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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25694479">Le fabuleux destin de Marinette Dupain</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/deinde_prandium/pseuds/deinde_prandium'>deinde_prandium</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Miraculous Ladybug</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(kinda), Adrien works at a sex shop, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Amélie AU, But it’s only a minor plot point and totally innocent I swear, F/M, Fairy Tale Elements, Fluff and Humor, Human!Tikki and Plagg, Identity Reveal, Idiots in Love, Mild Language, Rating May Change, Secret Identity, Slow Burn, Strangers to Friends to Lovers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 07:34:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>52,921</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25694479</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/deinde_prandium/pseuds/deinde_prandium</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>An unexpected discovery sets 23-year old Marinette Dupain-Cheng on an unlikely quest to make Paris a better place, one (secret) good deed at a time. What she does not realize, however, is that this journey will also set her - and her masked partner in crime - on the path to true love.</p>
<p>A modern fairy tale (loosely) based on the 2001 film Amélie.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Adrien Agreste/Food, Adrien Agreste/Marinette Dupain-Cheng</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>149</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>157</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Inspired by <a href="https://shishitsunari.tumblr.com/post/142722748939/le-fabuleux-destin-de-marinette-dupain-i-dont">
    <span>this incredible artwork by shishitsunari.</span>
  </a></p>
<p> <br/>If you are familiar with the film, you will notice that I've taken considerable liberties with the details of the plot, but I hope you find that I've done justice to the overall tone/feel of the movie. That said, you don't need to have seen Amélie to understand this story...though I still recommend it, because it is beautiful.</p>
<p>This story is rated T for language, but there are moments when it flirts on the edge of M. No smut, but there are some scenes that take place where Adrien works (if you know the movie, you already know what I’m talking about). I may change the rating to be on the safe side, but just giving people a heads up :)</p>
<p>A million hugs and thank yous to my prereaders, merciki and rosegardeninwinter, as well as the best beta/sister ever, dealan, for patiently listening when I bust in at 2am with another idea. </p>
<p>As always: I own nothing, but I borrow with love.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><hr/><p>
  <em>You were you, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> and I was I; </em>
</p><p>
  <em> we were two </em>
</p><p>
  <em> before our time. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I was yours </em>
</p><p>
  <em> before I knew, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> and you have always </em>
</p><p>
  <em> been mine too. </em>
</p><p>-Lang Leav</p><hr/><p> </p><p>This story begins, as many do, with a girl and a boy. </p><p>
  <em>There once was a girl who lived above a bakery with a view of Notre Dame. The girl was lonely. She knew she had things better than most, what with a pair of loving parents and a warm and happy home, but she always hoped for more. That is not to say she was isolated; her classmates recognized her generous spirit and vivid imagination. Even so, she lingered on the sidelines, surrounded by friendly faces but no true friends. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Instead, the girl sought comfort in the small pleasures of life. The delicate crunch of a perfectly baked macaron shell. The sound of her scissors cutting into a new bolt of fabric. The triumph of a well-executed trick with her yoyo. The girl knew she couldn’t cling to the shelter of her parents’ love forever...if she did, how would she ever find a great love of her own? She needed to be brave. And so she waited, hoping she would be ready for the moment when she’d have to let go and fly free.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Two métro stops away, there was a boy who lived in a mansion with a view of four high walls. The boy was lonely. As a child, his rich and famous parents had determined that an ordinary life would not do for their extraordinary son. Forbidden from attending school, a parade of tutors were entrusted with his education, while his social life was limited to pre-arranged playdates with the Mayor’s daughter. Though his days were scheduled almost to the second, he was not unhappy...until tragedy took away both his mother and his tether to the outside world.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>After that, the boy’s schedule felt more like a cage. Fencing competitions, piano recitals, and photo shoots felt less about exploring his talents and more about feeding his persona as the golden child of Paris. Even then, he hewed more closely to his responsibilities than ever, hoping his efforts would bring back the one parent he still had. But in the quiet of the evening, the boy couldn’t help but look out the window and wish for the moment to arrive when he could truly be free.</em>
</p><p>Marinette Dupain-Cheng and Adrien Agreste make for a sweet, but sad, pair of souls. They don't know each other. But they will.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Days, months, years go by. Some things change, while others remain very much the same.</p><p>Marinette, now 23, waits tables at the café next door to her parents’ bakery. She could have found a job closer to her apartment, but she finds it is more convenient to split her time between the two locations as her schedule permits. Indeed, Marinette all but insists on helping at the bakery on her days off, doing everything from marketing campaigns to deliveries. Concerned that her parents are working themselves ragged, she holds tight to the conviction that they need her more than ever. </p><p>This...is not quite true. Tom and Sabine enjoy having their daughter around, but they also frequently remind her that they can easily hire someone else if she were to land a job that puts her design degree to good use - a not so subtle encouragement to follow her dreams instead of supporting theirs. Unspoken is the concern that Marinette is in a rut, but her parents don’t push her too much. It had been a big enough step to convince her to move out and experience some real independence.</p><p>Marinette’s small flat is a beautiful disaster, bursting with scraps of fabric and pages from sketchbooks. Living on her own is an adjustment, but the solitude doesn’t bother her nearly as much as it did in her youth. In fact, she enjoys having a space where she can retreat to tinker with her designs. Here, Marinette can be herself and let her brilliant imagination run wild, free from the well-intentioned but irksome questions about what she plans to do with her ever-expanding portfolio. And in any case, it’s not like she’s a total introvert. She has friends...she’s even dated (though she’d be the first to tell you the results were a letdown). Marinette loves her interactions with her neighbors and the regulars at the café. Still, there is a small space in her heart that waits for a bit more, even if she tells herself that she has enough. </p><p>Life for Adrien, also 23, has not changed nearly as much as he would like. While he has successfully fought to scale back his modeling commitments, his ties to the family business remain difficult to sever. It seems that years of having his picture plastered on billboards across Paris have led people to conclude that he isn’t good for anything other than his pretty face (which, while more angular and often covered in stubble, is still incredibly pretty). Without a university degree, his being an accomplished pianist and fencer who speaks fluent Chinese makes him infinitely more interesting, but not more employable. His only consolation is that he’s saved enough money to buy his own place.  </p><p>Although his reduced modeling workload still earns him more than enough to cover his living expenses, it can’t provide Adrien what he really craves: independence. Eager to prove to himself that he can be self-sufficient, Adrien decides to supplement his income by...less conventional means. Working odd jobs for cash under the table builds up a nest egg no one can touch, but it also serves as a form of quiet rebellion against his father. It tickles him to no end that Gabriel Agreste is <em>disappointed</em>™ because he believes that his only son is eschewing his family obligations in favor of a “bohemian” (translation: lazy) lifestyle, presumably by frittering away his substantial trust fund. If only he knew that his golden child actually spends his free days alternating between a funfair train ride and a sex shop in Pigalle.</p><p>The arrangement actually suits Adrien nicely, giving him a window into the world from which he has been sheltered for so long. He doesn’t worry about his identity being discovered in either location; he wears a mask for one job, and for the other…well, let’s just say that the people there don’t ask questions because they know better. He enjoys the anonymity, and the breath of freedom that comes with it. The downside is that he doesn’t have many friends - it’s difficult to get close to people who don’t even know his real name - but it’s a small price to pay when he can actually be a little bit more like his real self. </p><p>Marinette Dupain-Cheng and Adrien Agreste are older, smarter, and not as lonely as they used to be. They are also both still utterly unaware of just how closely their fates are tied.</p><p>That is about to change.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. March 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Marinette Dupain-Cheng exits the Saint-Paul métro station, smiling at the feel of the sun on her face. It's not that she has a particularly exciting day lined up, but seeing the signs of spring's impending arrival, however faint, is enough to put a bounce in her step as she makes her way down the street and through the arcade surrounding the Place des Vosges. She stops for a while to listen to a harpist play under the historic stone arches, admiring how the notes resonate throughout the passage as she lightly sways to the music.</p><p>Today, something will happen that will change Marinette’s life forever. She is, of course, completely oblivious of this.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>In an apartment not 100 meters from where Marinette is standing at this exact moment, Adrien Agreste is fumbling to shut off the alarm on his cell phone. His shift at <em>La Petite Mort </em>ended less than eight hours ago, but he needs to be the picture of well-rested perfection when he arrives at his photo shoot. Nathalie is going to be there, and he suspects that his father will, too. </p><p>His father, who will take advantage of every opportunity to bemoan the fact that Adrien hasn't been able to get his life in order since moving out. (Not, as Adrien would argue, that his upbringing did much to prepare him for adulthood.)</p><p>Adrien curses when he sees the time and pulls himself out of bed, knowing that he’s going to be late if he doesn’t leave soon. The next few minutes fly by as he rushes to get ready. There's no time to make breakfast, but there's a bakery near his place that he's been meaning to visit; this seems to be as good an excuse as any to check it out.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Marinette still has plenty of time before her shift at <em>Le 21e</em>, so after dropping a couple of coins into the musician’s hat, she decides to stop in and say hello to her parents.</p><p>“Good morning, Maman!” </p><p>“Oh, Marinette!” Her mother looks up from the counter with a wide smile. “Have you eaten already? Your papa was about to take another batch of croissants out of the oven.” </p><p>“That would be great. I'll go back there and help,” she says, giving her mother a quick kiss on the cheek. She slips past her and heads toward the kitchen as the bell rings to signal the entry of another customer.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Adrien scours the array of offerings on display at the Tom &amp; Sabine Boulangerie Patisserie, where a cheerful looking Asian woman in her 50s stands waiting for him to make a choice. The problem is, there are too many choices. He had come in expecting to grab a quick pain au chocolat, but he’s found himself paralyzed by the assortment of delicious treats. </p><p>“First time?”</p><p>Adrien looks up at the lady at the counter. She smiles at him knowingly. </p><p>“That obvious?” he asks, sheepish.</p><p>“It’s no trouble,” she says reassuringly. “Would you like some assistance?”</p><p>He blows out a breath, relieved. “Yes, please. I’d normally either take my time or order one of everything, but I’m in a bit of a rush and need something quick for breakfast. I’m kind of running late,” he admits.</p><p>The woman - the proprietor, he presumes - gives him a nod. “In that case, I’d recommend you stick with something simple, like our croissants. We were just about to bring out a fresh batch.” She gestures for Adrien to wait, then turns to call out toward the kitchen. “Marinette! Can you bring those croissants to the front, please?” </p><p>There’s just enough of a lull in the bakery for Adrien to hear a crash, followed by a muffled voice yelling <em>“Coming!”</em> from the back room. The two share a look, followed by a chuckle.</p><p>“You know, you look familiar,” she says, eyeing him appraisingly. </p><p>Adrien decides to deflect, hoping that she’s not thinking of that new perfume ad he did recently. “I actually live around the corner,” he says to her. “I moved in a few months ago, so you may have seen me around? I haven’t had much opportunity to explore, though.”</p><p>“Ah, of course! That must be it. Well, welcome to the neighborhood! I'm Sabine. My husband, Tom, and I own this place.” </p><p>(The warm smile gracing Sabine Cheng's features deftly hides the fact that she knows perfectly well who he is. It’s not that she’s lying, per se. But she’s perceptive enough to pick up on his reticence, and is happy to play along.)</p><p>Adrien finds the kindness of the bakery's co-owner strangely touching. (In fact, it is at this moment that he pledges to make a name for himself as the Dupain-Cheng bakery's all-time favorite customer. By the end of this story, his wish will have come true.) </p><p>Sabine reaches out her hand, which he shakes eagerly. </p><p>“Pleasure to meet you. I’m Adrien.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Marinette is thoroughly covered in flour. It’s not entirely clear how she managed to accomplish such a feat without turning the entire kitchen into a floury wonderland, but Tom Dupain has learned by this point that it’s easier not to ask questions. He just hands her a towel.</p><p>“You know, Marinette, I can handle this," he gently reminds her as he reaches for the tray of croissants.</p><p>Indignant, Marinette wrenches the tray from her father’s grasp. “I am here to <em>help</em>,” she insists with a little huff. "A little flour never hurt anyone. I can clean myself up after I bring these to Maman.” Stepping backwards with a smile, she swings the kitchen door open before turning to face her mother.</p><p>Her mother, who is helping a customer. An incredibly beautiful, male customer who happens to be a dead ringer for Adrien Agreste.</p><p>“Thank you, Marinette!” Sabine says, plucking two croissants off the tray and placing them into a paper bag. (She ignores the fact that her daughter looks like the victim of a powder factory explosion and hands the bag to the customer...who looks more confused than anything else.)</p><p>“It’s on the house,” Sabine tells him.</p><p>The Adrien-doppelgänger shakes his head. “No, I-”</p><p>“Let’s just call it a welcome gift, from one  neighbor to another. Besides, you said you were in a rush. Now, go! I’m sure we’ll see you again soon.”</p><p>The man accepts the bag with a blush. “Thank you, Sabine. It was really wonderful to meet you,” he says as he heads for the exit.</p><p>“The pleasure was mine. See you again soon, Adrien!” Sabine calls out after him.</p><p>Marinette pales - or, more accurately, she would look pale, were she not already covered in flour. She clings to the croissant tray for dear life. </p><p>
  <em>Oh. No.</em>
</p><p>“Maman,” she says tremulously, “did you just call that man ‘Adrien’?”</p><p>“Why, yes,” Sabine answers. “Apparently, he's moved in just around the corner.” She looks at her daughter, curious. “Do you want me to get you a towel, by the way? You may want to clean up before your shift at the café."</p><p>Marinette is unable to do anything but stand there, gaping at her mother as she wipes the flour off her brow like she's a small child again. </p><p>All the while, her head is spinning. Adrien Agreste just came into her family's bakery. <em>The</em> Adrien Agreste. Adrien Agreste, the supermodel/celebrity crush whose photos adorned her walls for the majority of her teenage years. She can’t believe how good he looks! He's all grown up, living down the street…</p><p>...and has just seen Marinette looking like the ghost of bakers past.</p><p>If 14-year-old Marinette could see her now, she would be screaming. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Now, you may be thinking that this innocent - if not mildly cringe-worthy - encounter is the event that is going to change Marinette Dupain-Cheng's life forever. </p><p>It is not. </p><p>However, it cannot be denied that this incident is weighing on our young heroine. It serves as an unwelcome distraction that dogs her as she hurriedly tries to work the last dregs of flour out of her hair before her shift at the café is due to begin. She stands before the mirror in the upstairs bathroom, dragging a hairbrush through her blue-black tresses with a wince, as the look on Adrien Agreste’s beautiful but baffled face flickers in her mind’s eye. <em>Way to make a first impression</em>, she tells herself. </p><p>Still, as mortified as she had been at the idea of meeting her teenage celebrity crush under such circumstances, Marinette is able to take comfort in knowing that her flour-dusted appearance had rendered her all but unrecognizable. Were Adrien to return (and as we know, he will), she would surely be able to make a better first impression. As long as she stays away from flour from now on.</p><p>Marinette tugs on her hairbrush a little too hard, and it goes flying through the air with so much force that it hits the baseboard tile with a resounding <em>thunk</em>. Cursing, she crouches down to retrieve the implement...only to discover that the brush has actually knocked a tile loose from the grout. </p><p>Wonderful. Yet another casualty of her legendary clumsiness.</p><p>She reaches to retrieve the loose tile, with the intent of presenting it to her parents along with an apology. But the tile, already balanced precariously on one thin edge, falls over with a dull thud...revealing a hole in the wall.</p><p>Intrigued, Marinette leans in closer. She fumbles for her phone, using the flashlight function to shine a light into the opening. <em>There’s something in there</em>, she realizes with a gasp. She slides a hand inside, and when she withdraws, she’s holding a black, octagonal box.</p><p>The time is 09:56. Marinette is about to be late for work. However, at this precise moment she cannot be bothered to care, so engrossed is she with her unexpected discovery. Indeed, there would be few who could relate to the swirl of emotions Marinette feels as she delicately blows dust off the top of the box, revealing an intricate pattern in lines of red. It is as if she is an explorer at the entrance to King Tut’s tomb. She has no idea what’s inside, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is, she’s found it.</p><p>Marinette lifts the lid. This is no ancient treasure chest, but the contents therein are treasures nonetheless, carefully curated by an unknown owner. Faded ticket stubs to a show at the cinema. A black and white photo of a young lady (<em>Reviens à moi, Marianne</em>, it reads on the back). A pair of earrings: simple red studs dotted with black, like the shell of a ladybug. A miniature diary, no bigger than her palm.</p><p>Questions and theories flood her brain in a rush. It couldn’t have been hidden there by a child - had that been the case, there would have been toys, or baseball cards, things of that sort. And whoever it is, they can’t be <em>that </em>old - the tickets are just legible enough to suggest the box was left there forty, maybe fifty years ago. Marinette considers opening the diary, but she hesitates, not yet willing to breach the privacy of the owner. And yet...if it could provide another clue…</p><p>“Marinette! Aren’t you supposed to be at the café already?”</p><p>The sound of her mother’s voice shakes Marinette back to reality. “Just coming down now!” she calls back, snapping the lid shut and stuffing the box into her purse. After a moment’s consideration, Marinette also decides to replace the loose tile against the wall, obscuring the hiding place behind it. Checking her appearance one last time, she pulls her hair into a messy half-bun before running out of the bathroom, heading down the stairs and back into the bakery.</p><p>Sabine gives her a look. “All cleaned up, then?”</p><p>“Yes, Maman,” she sing-songs with a little eye roll.</p><p>Her mother smirks. “Here,” she says, handing her a pastry box. “This should keep you in Tikki’s good graces despite being late. <em>Again</em>.”</p><p>Marinette grins. She doesn’t need to open it; she knows exactly what’s inside. “Thanks, Maman. You’re the best,” she says, giving her a peck on the cheek. “Now, I’ve gotta go! I’ll see you later!”</p><p>Pastry box in hand, she waves good-bye and heads for next door.</p><p>The little box of treasures, on the other hand, stays hidden in her purse for the rest of the day.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>It is 12:39 in the morning. Adrien Agreste lies in bed, exhausted - not from his photoshoot, but by all that had taken place after. The awkward ride back to his father’s house, and the near silent dinner. It had been, by all accounts, a fantastic reminder of why he had decided to move out.</p><p>Despite his fatigue, Adrien finds it difficult to sleep...actually, it’s more like impossible, what with Gabriel Agreste’s latest string of criticism still ringing in his ear. <em>“You lack direction, Adrien. If you’re going to insist upon shirking your modeling responsibilities, I expect you to take more initiative to apply yourself in other ways. I'm sure we could find something for you to do at the office to keep yourself busy, since you're so dead set on tossing away your actual career.”</em> </p><p>He wishes that there was someone who hid in the shadows, witty retorts at the ready, who could coach him whenever he got tongue tied in front of his dad. It is only now, hours later, that a response comes to mind: <em>“Yes, Father, but you see, I’ve been so busy modeling that I haven’t had time to do things like finally get my degree, which would allow me to do something other than mooch off your blatant nepotism. I suppose I shouldn’t mind if you don’t, but seeing as I have no intention of taking up the family business, perhaps you could find it in your heart to be supportive of my dreams instead of the ones you have for me.”</em></p><p>Then again, even his imaginary retort doesn’t quite have the effect he’d like. In order to pursue a dream, he needs to figure out what that dream actually entails. Things being what they are, he’d only really gotten as far as moving out...and if he’s honest, he’s still a little amazed that he’d been able to pull that one off. </p><p>Not wanting to go to bed in a bad mood, Adrien tries to redirect his focus to more positive thoughts. Breakfast, he realizes, had been the real bright spot of the day. Not only had he been enchanted by the Dupain-Cheng Bakery’s friendly owner, but he’d fallen in love with the croissants she had given him. He can still remember the puffy, buttery layers that had melted in his mouth with every crunchy bite. Not even the scandalized look on Nathalie’s face when she spied some errant crumbs on his shirt had been enough to take away his joy. </p><p>Best croissant he’s ever had, no doubt about it.</p><p>Adrien drifts off to sleep as he wonders what he’ll try there tomorrow.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>In a fifth floor apartment in Montmartre, Marinette is also lying in bed -  completely and utterly wired. </p><p>She can’t stop thinking about the little black box that is now sitting on her bedside table. How did it get there, and to whom does it belong? The pull of this little mystery excites and fascinates her in a way she hasn’t felt since she designed her first dress. It’s triggered something inside of her, giving her a renewed sense of purpose - a mission.</p><p>Finally, we have arrived at the critical moment. </p><p>Marinette is teetering at the precipice of life as she knows it; all it takes is one step for her to tumble into a valley of new possibilities she had never thought existed.</p><p>It’s an exhilarating moment. Or it would be, if she knew just how much her life is about to change.</p><p>A decision is made. Marinette resolves to find the rightful owner of this box of memories and reunite them with their treasures. Whoever they are, she hopes that this gesture will bring a little extra happiness to their life. And who knows? Maybe it will lead to a part-time career as a professional do-gooder.</p><p>Smiling to herself with satisfaction, Marinette snuggles against her pillow and closes her eyes. <em>Tomorrow</em>, she tells herself, <em>it begins.</em></p><p>She has no idea just how truthful those words are.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I was going to wait until Monday to post this, but since I've been making good progress with my edits, I thought I would share this one a little early. (Just don't get used to the idea of twice weekly updates, lol.)</p><p>Feedback always appreciated! Thank you for reading :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. March 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Heads up that this chapter features mentions of sex toys. I mean this in the most innocent way possible.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Marinette marches down the second floor hallway toward the property records office at the <em>Mairie du 4e arrondissement</em>, a requisition slip scrunched tightly in her fist. She feels like she understands how the Roman senators had felt the day they assassinated Julius Caesar, because this morning's dealings with the wonders of French bureaucracy have left her feeling like she wants to stab someone.</p><p>It’s an imperfect analogy, but the frustration is sincere. Having had no success in determining the owner of the black box using the internet, Marinette had hoped a trip to the local town hall might help her turn up some information as to who had lived in her building during the period she believes the box had been hidden. </p><p>Unfortunately, no one in the <em>Mairie</em> seems able - or even willing - to assist her in the search.</p><p>Having been sent on a wild goose chase from office to office to get various stamps and signatures <em>for the past three hours</em>, Marinette is now approaching the end of her rope. She can only hope that someone, anyone, will be able to give her even the tiniest hint as to who this mysterious person might be. </p><p>Marinette joins yet another queue, crossing her fingers that this will be the last she has to contend with before she can speak to the records clerk. <em>The fourth time has to be the charm, right?</em> (Even she knows that this is unlikely to be the case, but as she has to be at work in less than an hour, she clings to the wish nonetheless.) </p><p>While she waits, Marinette quietly runs through the clues she currently has in an effort to calm her nerves:</p><ol>
<li>The box was most likely placed there about fifty years ago. Marinette had looked up the film - some sappy musical involving a boy, a girl, and an umbrella - and deduced that the box had likely been hidden around the same time.</li>
<li>Based on what she knows about the movie, she is also willing to bet that the box’s owner had been at least a teenager when they saw it...more likely, the person had been in their 20s. So realistically, that means they’re probably in their 70s or 80s. (Marinette gulps; she hadn’t considered the age factor until now. She crosses her fingers that they’re still alive.)</li>
<li>The diary, intriguingly, was written in Chinese. Combined with the design of the box itself, it’s a near certainty that the owner is/was a person of Asian descent. (Marinette is both fascinated and relieved by this particular clue, as it has the potential to narrow the field of possibilities considerably.)</li>
<li>The owner of the box seems to have been in love - most likely with Marianne, the woman in the photo. (Marinette likes to think that the earrings had been intended as a gift for her, and considers the merits of approaching the mystery from a different angle; perhaps Marianne would be able to identify the person in question...)</li>
</ol><p>The mental exercise does a world of good, and the line moves more quickly than she had expected. In fact, by the time Marinette approaches the clerk’s desk, she’s almost returned to her usual, cheery self. </p><p>Fifty-seven seconds later, she is more furious than ever.</p><p>“What do you mean, I’m not allowed to access the record?”</p><p>The question sounds more like a threat, but at this point Marinette cannot be bothered to care. However, the records clerk seems to care even less. She barely casts a glance in Marinette’s direction as she drones, “Unfortunately, Mademoiselle, the address listed on your photo identification does not appear to match that of the record which you seek. Property records are not available to the general public. They may only be requested by current residents or owners of the properties in question.”</p><p>“But, but - I used to live there!” Marinette protests. “I grew up there! My parents still live there!”</p><p>The clerk looks at her with disinterested eyes. “Then you can ask your parents to make the request on your behalf. But I am not permitted to assist you further in this matter. Next!”</p><p>Seething at her dismissal, Marinette stomps out of the office and down the marble staircase in search of the main exit. <em>What a waste of a morning</em>, she thinks to herself. <em>I mean, seriously. Could they not have told me about the address matching thing when I talked to them the </em>first <em>time? Or even the fourth time?? And now, I’m going to be late for work, and Tikki will give me her disappointed face again, and...</em></p><p>Marinette is so lost in her frustration and annoyance, she doesn't notice that someone has just entered the building and is walking in her direction...until she slams directly into his chest.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry! I wasn’t paying attention.” The words fly out of Adrien’s mouth as he extends a hand toward the dazed young woman who is sprawled inelegantly on the floor. “Are you all right?”</p><p>Adrien helps the woman to her feet, keeping a hand at her elbow as she steadies herself. Their eyes meet, and for a split second he feels like he’s met her somewhere before. It’s possible she feels the same way, given the manner in which her eyes seem to widen at the sight of his face.</p><p><em>Maybe she’s a fan</em>? he wonders silently. Then: <em>No. It’s something else. She’s quite pretty, though. I’m sure I would have recognized her if we’d met before.</em> He feels his cheeks warm slightly at the notion. </p><p>“Again, I am so sorry,” he tells her earnestly. </p><p>“I’m fine,” she manages to squeak out. “I was just mad...ly clumsy.” </p><p>“It’s really not your fault,” Adrien says reassuringly, giving her the kindest smile he can manage. “Is there any way I can-”</p><p>A voice cuts across the lobby, interrupting him. “Oh, <em>there </em>you are, Adrikins!” </p><p>Adrien looks up to see his best friend (his only friend, really) click-clacking her way toward him in a pair of absurdly high heels. He turns back to the woman he knocked over, anxious to smooth things over with her before Chloe shows up and makes things any worse. But it seems that it’s too late; the young woman’s face, previously a rather sweet combination of flustered and annoyed, is now scrunched in apparent dismay at the sight of his friend.</p><p>“Pardon me,” she says tersely, brushing herself off and running in the direction of the main exit.</p><p>He watches her retreating form as it disappears into the sunlight. <em>Well, that was odd.</em></p><p>“Who was that?” Chloe asks, tapping her toe impatiently on the tile floor. “And what was she doing making you late for lunch?”</p><p>“I...I don’t know,” Adrien admits. “I ran into her by accident, and then she just...ran off.”</p><p>“Ha! Well, serves her right for not looking where she was going. Now, can we leave already? I’m starving.” </p><p>Chloe doesn’t wait for an answer. She just grabs him by the arm and drags him out the door.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Marinette makes it through the front door of the café just moments before her shift is due to begin. She breathes a sigh of relief - it’s the first lucky break she’s had all day. </p><p>Make no mistake, she’s still incredibly annoyed about the morning. However, she refuses to let her frustration ruin the rest of her day. Besides, as much as she would like to run off and continue playing detective, she knows she could use a bit of a distraction from her search.</p><p>So instead, Marinette opts to focus on her work. Keeping mum about what had almost made her late, she simply goes about her shift as usual, sharing smiles, jokes, and neighborhood gossip with her co-workers and customers. If anything, she’s hopeful that the routine will help her forget all about the disaster of a morning she’d had at the <em>Mairie</em>.</p><p>Unfortunately, this time luck is not exactly on her side - not when the big topic of discussion ends up being none other than Adrien Agreste. Ivan doesn’t pay much attention; he’s preoccupied with the task of muddling mint leaves behind the bar. Alya, on the other hand, is so caught up in excitement over the recent increase in Adrien sightings on their street that she completely misses the family of American tourists frantically trying to wave her down.</p><p>“And Manon just told me she saw him pass by with some blonde woman a little while ago!” her friend and fellow waitress exclaims. “New girlfriend, I wonder? I’m surprised the paparazzi hasn’t picked up on that stuff yet.”</p><p>Marinette looks away, scowling as her collision with Adrien replays in her head yet again. He had seemed nice enough, but the surprise appearance of her former classmate/bully is giving her second thoughts. <em>Adrien Agreste and Chloe Bourgeois, dating? Actually, it didn’t look like they were dating...but does that matter? The fact that they’re even friends says enough</em>, she says to herself.</p><p>To Alya, however, she says nothing about their interaction. “I’m not that surprised, to be honest,” Marinette tells her. “Maman told me that he’s moved into some place around the corner from here. I suspect we’ll see a lot of him in the neighborhood from now on.” </p><p>“Girl, why are you only telling me this now?? I thought we were BFFs!” Alya mock-scolds, whipping a kitchen towel in Marinette’s direction as she finally makes her way toward her waiting customers. “But now that I know he’s local...I wonder if he’d be interested in doing an interview for my blog.” </p><p>Marinette just shrugs. She decides to keep the flour incident to herself, as well.</p><p>Grabbing the drinks from the bar, Marinette makes the usual rounds with her regulars: a <em>kir royale</em> for Marc, an aspiring writer who spends most of their day sequestered at a table in the back with their laptop; a <em>café au lait</em> for Manon, her old babysitting charge, who likes to pop in between her university classes; and a mint cordial for Mylène, a flight attendant who asks Marinette to dog-sit whenever she’s away. (Mylène, incidentally, also happens to be the unsuspecting object of Ivan’s affection; the barman pours his love into making her the perfect drink, but has yet to figure out how to confess his feelings with actual words.) </p><p>The task, however menial, really does do wonders in helping Marinette clear her head. As far as her friends and neighbors are concerned, this is just another perfectly typical day at the café. Marinette takes in a breath, relishing the routine and the sense of calm it brings as her work gradually washes away the negativity of the morning. </p><p>Nonetheless, her thoughts continue to drift back to the black box and its mysterious owner.</p><p>Marinette casts a glance at her red headed friend. She briefly considers sharing her discovery with Alya and enlisting her help, but stops short. Make no mistake, her friend would be the perfect person to help her investigate...but for reasons she can’t quite explain, she feels the need to keep this little mission to herself.</p><p>She heads outside to clear the dishes left by a couple that have just left. <em>No</em>, she tells herself. <em>I can do this. I’m going to find a way to solve this mystery on my own.</em></p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“So you’re absolutely sure you’re fine on your own? Because it honestly wouldn’t surprise me if you said your dad tried sending Nathalie to convince you to give up on this whole experiment in independence. Or worse, tried to get your gorilla of a bodyguard to kidnap you and take you home.”</p><p>“I told you, Chlo, I’m fine. My father hasn’t tried any of those things.” <em>Not since last month, anyway</em>, Adrien thinks to himself as he shoots her a conciliatory smile.</p><p>It’s a common scene: he’ll agree to meet her for lunch, and she’ll interrogate him about his personal life. Adrien is, as always, careful and diplomatic in his responses, not wanting to set off the fireworks that always seem to be hiding beneath his friend’s perfectly coiffed exterior. Still, while she can be obnoxious and prone to hyperbole, he appreciates how protective Chloe can be. (This is putting things mildly, to say the least. Chloe Bourgeois hates Adrien’s dad more than enough for the two of them, and isn’t afraid to make sure <em>everyone </em>knows it.)</p><p>“Honestly, Adrien,” she continues with a sigh. “What you really need to do is show your father you’re not a kid anymore. Do something that fucks him up. Stage a coup. Hire a hitman. Something that really knocks him off balance, you know?”</p><p>Adrien just laughs. He knows that she’s not actually kidding, but it’s easier to keep the curious stares from piling up if he treats it like a joke. “I don’t need to do anything more than what I’m already doing. My dad’s shocked enough I haven't come crawling back home after living on my own for more than six months.”</p><p>“I am too, to be honest,” she admits. “I mean seriously, you have to do your own dishes? And you like that?”</p><p>He grins, unwilling to resist the temptation to push Chloe’s buttons. “What? It's fun!”</p><p>“And laundry?”</p><p>“I'll admit, it takes me longer than it should to pull things out of the dryer, but I find ironing oddly soothing.”</p><p>Chloe wrinkles her nose in disgust. “You're so weird.”</p><p>“You would be, too, if you’d been trapped at home without friends for your whole childhood.”</p><p>“You had me. I'm more than enough, trust me.” Her tone is matter-of-fact, but it’s laced with a hint of something else, as well.</p><p>Adrien rolls his eyes, but reaches across the table to squeeze her hand. It’s a rare moment when the mighty Chloe Bourgeois shows any hint of vulnerability. “You know what I mean, Chlo.”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah,” she says, pushing him away. “I'll admit, the independent bachelor thing is a good look for you. But I also want to see you happy, like really happy. You need to find something in your life that’s totally yours - something that makes you feel whole. And the only way you do that is if you force yourself to step out of your dad’s shadow and stay there.” Chloe pauses, tapping her finger on her chin. “Or maybe you just need to get laid.”</p><p>Adrien pushes his chair from the table. “Aaaand this conversation is over. Anyway, thanks for lunch. I’ve gotta go, or else I'll be late for work. Need to be a responsible adult and all that.”</p><p>Choe’s eyes narrow at him in suspicion. She snaps her fingers, and a waiter quickly appears. “Put it on the tab. André Bourgeois,” she orders, scrawling her signature on a slip of paper before following Adrien out the door. </p><p>Adrien is surprised at how quickly she catches up to him, considering how high her heels are. He is less surprised at her unwillingness to drop the subject.</p><p>“Work? You’ve already done two photoshoots this week. Is this another job? Are you-” Chloe gasps, bringing her voice down to a hushed whisper- “are you cheating on your dad with another designer?” Her eyes sparkle gleefully. “Because if you did, I’m so proud of you.”</p><p>He shoots her a cryptic smile; better for her to believe that, than to know the truth. (It’s not that he is ashamed of his current job. It’s more that he’s not ready for whatever reaction Chloe would have if he were to tell her that he’s about to spend the next eight hours surrounded by miles of leather and silicone. Knowing her, she’d run off and tell his dad, just so that she could record the man’s reaction for posterity.)</p><p>“I'd tell you, but then I'd have to kill you,” he says, reaching over to give her a hug. “Thanks for the pep talk. I'll think about what you said.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“How are you doing there, Mari?”</p><p>Marinette looks up from the table she’s dusting off to see her boss leaning against the bar, an enigmatic smile playing at her lips. “You’ve been wiping down the same table for the past two minutes. I’m a stickler for hygiene, but I’d say you’ve outdone yourself.”</p><p>Marinette blushes. “Sorry, Tikki. Just got a little distracted.” She blows out a little sigh, and Tikki hobbles over, giving her a little pat on the shoulder.</p><p>(No one actually knows her real name, but Tikki, as everyone calls her, is something of a local legend. There are conflicting stories about her background. Some say that she’s a former circus performer who had settled in Paris after a freak accident left her with a limp. Others say the limp is the result of a war wound, a souvenir from her time as a gun runner for the French Resistance. Either way, she never spills a drop...and she astounds neighbors and tourists alike with a knowledge of Paris lore so expansive, they’d swear she’s lived in the city for centuries. To be honest, no one seems to know how old she really is, and no one wants to offend her by asking. Tikki’s sage-like presence is matched only by her limitless energy, which only seems to enhance the ethereal, ageless sensibility she projects. </p><p>One thing Marinette <em>does</em> know, however, is that the woman loves her sweets. She’s certain the only reason Tikki hired her was to guarantee her access to a steady supply of macarons from her parents. She’s not entirely wrong on this one; Tikki loves her like a granddaughter, but the macarons make it easier to tolerate her constant tardiness.)</p><p>“I’m just teasing, of course,” Tikki says mildly. “But you did look like you’ve got something on your mind. You want to talk about it?”</p><p>Marinette considers the question. She doesn’t want to give away her secret, but if Tikki’s been around this long, she might actually be able to help.</p><p>“Do you happen to remember,” Marinette ventures, “who lived above the bakery before my parents bought the place?”</p><p>“Oh goodness, there have been so many people who have come through. Honestly, no one seemed to be able to hold down a business for long before your parents came along. I’ve seen an apothecary, a hat shop...for ages, the owner was a greengrocer, but he also ran a boarding house upstairs.” </p><p>This detail piques her interest. “A boarding house? Really?”</p><p>“Mmhmm,” Tikki replies. “Just a few newcomers, here and there. Usually from abroad. Some of them would work in the shop to cover their rent.”</p><p>Emboldened, Marinette pushes for more. “Do you recall any coming in from, say, China? About fifty years ago?”</p><p>Tikki leans against the doorway, pensive. “Well, that is an interesting question. Actually, come to think of it, yes I do. A young man, probably in his late teens or early 20s. I want to say he came here to study, but I’m not sure.  Well mannered, but quiet, even timid. But he’d stop in here once in a while with a lady friend. Blondie. They seemed like polar opposites, but they were very sweet on each other. Practically inseparable.”</p><p><em>Yes!</em> Marinette rejoices silently. <em>Finally, some progress!</em> She goes for the million euro question. “Do you happen to remember the name, at all?”</p><p>Tikki smiles. “My, you are curious today, aren’t you?”</p><p>Marinette quickly comes up with an excuse. “It’s just interesting to hear of other immigrants coming here from China. I know all about Maman’s story, but it’s fascinating to hear about others, especially those from previous generations.” (Well, at least it isn't a total lie.)</p><p>“Hmm. Well, I want to say the name Fu comes to mind. Ah, yes. Fu. Wang Fu. No idea where he ended up, but I’d be willing to bet he stayed in Paris if that girl had anything to do with it. You don’t forget a love like that every day, trust me.”</p><p>Tikki gives her another smile. “Go home. I can handle closing,” she says as she walks off. </p><p>Marinette, however, doesn’t hear any of it. All she can think about is how much closer she is to meeting the owner of the mystery box.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Meanwhile, in Pigalle, Adrien is still mulling over his talk with Chloe as he re-arranges a display of riding crops at <em>La Petite Mort.</em></p><p>Somewhere in the middle of the death threats and jabs about his sex life, Chloe had struck a nerve with some unusually heartfelt advice. <em>You need to find something in your life that’s totally yours - something that makes you feel whole. And the only way you do that is if you force yourself to step out of your dad’s shadow and stay there.</em></p><p>Adrien looks around the shop, pensive. Isn’t that kind of what he is already doing? It’s not like his dad knows about this job, or about his work with Marcelle. And while admittedly not a solid career path, his work situation is not without its perks. He has a relatively steady income. His schedule is flexible. The customers at the shop are...polite. His boss at <em>LPM</em> isn’t exactly what he’d call <em>friendly</em>, but Plagg is a good guy at heart, and about as close to a work friend as Adrien can have. (The secret, Adrien has learned, is to ply the guy with cheese whenever he’s in a bad mood. Just don’t ask him how he figured that one out.) </p><p>Best of all, no one is pushing him to be anything he's not - something that he certainly cannot say about his other, significantly more lucrative, line of work. That consideration alone makes him inclined to pick the sex shop or the funfair any day of the week.</p><p>Even so, Adrien can’t help but admit that Chloe is right: there is definitely something missing, both in his professional and personal life. Stimulation - of the intellectual variety, specifically. But more importantly...a greater sense of purpose. A job that is both helpful and rewarding. People that he can truly be himself around and not hide things from. </p><p>Plagg wanders in from the back, interrupting Adrien’s reverie. He holds up an inflatable doll in each hand. “You think I should add these to the window display, or stick with the ball gag tree? Remember, I’m going for tasteful here.”</p><p><em>Ah, Plagg.</em> <em>Always asking the really important questions in life.</em></p><p>Adrien lets out a little sigh, resigned, and goes to help his boss. He pushes thoughts of his future away, willing himself to focus on his current situation. There’s plenty of time to think about his hopes and dreams later.</p><p><em>I’ll get my shit together</em>, Adrien reasons…<em>just not right now. Right now, I need to concentrate on other things. Like dildos.</em></p><p>(All of this will change sooner than he realizes. But for the time being, it's good that the seed has been planted in his mind.)</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Marinette’s mind is still racing as she walks home from the Abbesses métro. The web search that she had attempted on her phone had been less than helpful; strangely, most of the results for "Wang Fu Paris" involved Tripadvisor reviews for a Chinese buffet somewhere in Austria. She considers talking to the concierge of her building when she gets home...Madame Wallace uses old phone books as plant stands, and maybe she can flip through one to find an address. Just how many people named Wang Fu could there possibly be in Paris, anyway?</p><p><em>Unless they don't live in the city anymor</em>e, she thinks. It's the first time she's allowed herself to truly consider the possibility that she will fail in this quest, and it leaves her feeling more dejected than she had anticipated. She shakes the thought free as best she can, refusing to give up.</p><p>The window of the concierge's flat is dark when Marinette arrives. She feels another unpleasant tug in her belly, but reminds herself that there's always tomorrow. While she's there, she checks the bank of mailboxes to see if she's received anything. (Not that she is expecting any correspondence; much as she would love to hear from the major fashion houses, that would require her take the plunge and actually contact them, herself.)</p><p>The mail is, as with many things that have befallen Marinette today, a disappointment. Bills, mostly. One of them isn’t for her, and she sighs - this happens all the time with the postman. But she can't help the sharp intake of breath that results when she pays closer attention to the name on the envelope: </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Mr Wang Fu</em>
</p><p>
  <em>3F, 56 Rue des Trois Frères</em>
</p><p>
  <em>75018 Paris</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Holy shit!” </p><p>Marinette’s outburst echoes in the vestibule, and she ducks her head down, embarrassed. She suddenly feels like she’s living in some kind of strange fairy tale. Could it really be that easy? That the very person she’s looking for literally lives two floors below her? </p><p>She tries to calm her breaths as she sprints up the stairs to her apartment. Dashing in as quickly as she can, Marinette retrieves the black box from her room and pushes it into her bag, before heading down the steps again toward Apartment 3F. </p><p>She knocks on the door. A Chinese man who looks to be in his late 70s answers. The first thing she notices is the bright red Hawaiian shirt he’s wearing, which, if she is honest, doesn’t quite match the picture of him she had in her mind. </p><p>Monsieur Fu seems oddly calm to see her standing on his doorstep unannounced. "Ah. Mademoiselle Marinette Dupain Cheng, 5B. How may I assist you?"</p><p>"How do you know my name?" she asks, taken aback.</p><p>He smiles. "I try to know everyone in the building, even if they don’t know me. I am-"</p><p>“-Wang Fu,” she finishes.</p><p>Monsieur Fu crinkles a brow, amused. “And how do you know <em>my</em> name?”</p><p>She sticks out the envelope stiffly. “I got your mail by accident.”</p><p>“Oh that’s very kind.” He takes the proffered envelope, nodding his head in thanks. Marinette prepares herself to make some excuse to stay, but Monsieur Fu simply steps away from the door and begins to walk to the rear of his apartment. “Do come in,” he says over his shoulder.</p><p>Hesitating, Marinette steps across the threshold and looks around. The wall art seems to be a mix of Chinese calligraphy scrolls and prints of Impressionist paintings. What really captures her attention, however, are the little piles of books stacked on tabletops and all along the narrow hallway. Marinette scans a few of the titles: <em>Renoir: A Retrospective. Pursuing the Elixir of Life. Fundamentals of Chinese Characters. Sea Turtles: A Complete Guide to Their Biology, Behavior, and Conservation.</em> It’s an eclectic, cluttered mess - the complete antithesis of what she had expected given his serene demeanor. </p><p>Monsieur Fu stands in his kitchen, kettle in hand. He smiles kindly at her. “Please pardon the books; I’ve been doing some spring cleaning. In fact, when we’re done chatting, you’re welcome to take whatever you’d like. Now, would you like some tea?”</p><p>“Um, yes, please.” Marinette’s eyes dart uncomfortably around the room. <em>This was a mistake</em>, she thinks. <em>I should have just, like, left the box on his doorstep and run, like dropping off a baby.</em></p><p>However, the thought of completing her mission centers her, and she takes a breath. “So...how long have you lived here?” she begins.</p><p>“In this building? About fifteen years now. But I’ve been in Europe for fifty years, at least. Not always in Paris, but for most of it.” Monsieur Fu goes on to describe a litany of occupations: student, cinema usher, carousel operator, tour guide, Mandarin tutor. He’s a jack of all trades, no doubt about it. Now, in his retirement, he spends his time honing his skills in the arts of painting and Chinese medicine.</p><p>“You’ve done so much,” Marinette observes, impressed.</p><p>“Well, I am quite old,” he jokes. “And I always did have difficulty keeping to one path when there were so many others to explore. Yet there are still things I wish I had done,” he adds wistfully. </p><p>Monsieur Fu hands her a steaming cup of tea. “What about you, Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng?”</p><p>“Please, call me Marinette.”</p><p>“Marinette,” he corrects himself. “What is your story?”</p><p>“Oh, there’s nothing all that special about me,” she says with a shrug. “Finished school, and now I’m working.”</p><p>“How wonderful. And may I ask what your field is?”</p><p>Marinette blows on her tea, hoping the steam will hide how her cheeks warm at his question. “I, uh..I did my degree in fashion design, but I’m working on my portfolio before I apply to the fashion houses,” she says, parroting a script she’s followed many times before. “In the meantime, I’m just waitressing.”</p><p>Monsieur Fu hums thoughtfully. “Pardon my boldness, but you sound embarrassed by this. That’s not necessary. Take it from me - there is dignity in all work. And an opportunity to learn. Each experience you have helps to build the life you wish to create, even if it doesn’t feel like it in the moment. The key is in recognizing the right time to take your next step.”</p><p>Marinette smiles at him, feeling strangely comforted by his advice.</p><p>Monsieur Fu continues, apparently elated to have someone to converse with. "You have not lived in this building for very long, am I correct?"</p><p>She nods silently in the affirmative. (Inside, she is practically screaming. <em>There! This is the opening you need! Just do it!</em>)</p><p>Marinette decides to go for it. "I moved in a few months ago, yeah. I, um...I  actually used to live in the 4th, near Places des Vosges. My parents own a bakery on Rue Gotlib."</p><p>Monsieur Fu appears to perk up at this, and Marinette nearly drops her teacup. "Really?" he says with a smile. "What a coincidence...I lived there when I first moved to Paris."</p><p>(Are you familiar with those scenes in the movies when time seems to slow down and a flicker of light slowly turns into a halo of energy as everything falls into place? Because that most accurately describes the way how Marinette's head is currently exploding in response to this revelation.)</p><p>Her response is hilariously muted, considering what's going on in her head at this exact moment. "Yeah, um. Actually, I know."</p><p>Monsieur Fu smiles bemusedly at her reply. He appears ready to ask her how she knew this, when Marinette reaches into her bag and places the black box on the table. </p><p>A gasp escapes him. "Where did you find this?"</p><p>"Um...in the bathroom." </p><p>It sounds a little more awkward saying it out loud, but Fu doesn’t seem to care. In fact, he’s stopped paying attention to her completely. He opens the box with trembling fingers, delicately lifting out each item as if they might all crumble into dust if he’s not careful.</p><p>The last item he picks up is the photo. "Was- I mean, is…is she someone you loved?" Marinette asks timidly.</p><p>"Yes," he says, tears in his eyes as his fingertips brush over the inscription on the back. "We...we lost touch. But this brings back good memories. Perhaps I will see if I can look her up and reconnect."</p><p>The thought of this makes Marinette’s heart swell, and she’s overcome with emotion herself. </p><p>"Thank you for this, Marinette. You have given me a most unexpected gift. A little miracle." He holds out the earrings. "Here. I don’t know if they are currently in fashion, but I’d like to give you these as a token of my appreciation."</p><p>"No, I couldn’t," she protests with a shake of the head.</p><p>Fu is resolute. "I insist. They are of no use to me now. But for you...ladybugs are a symbol of good luck, you know. And it is a great stroke of luck that you happened upon this little box of mine. So it is only fitting, really, that you should have it."</p><p>Touched, Marinette accepts the earrings. There isn’t much to say after that; however, before she departs, Monsieur Fu extends an open invitation for her to visit any time. </p><p>Marinette practically floats up the stairs, light as a feather. Everything is utterly perfect - the stream of moonlight illuminating the spiral stairwell, the quiet murmur of the city filtering in from outside - and for a few brief moments, she feels completely at peace with herself and the world around her. A surge of love gently washes over her, and with it, a sense of clarity. </p><p>One thing’s for sure, whatever she’s feeling now is completely addictive. She can’t wait to find a new mission. </p><p>Marinette pauses at the landing. It’s one thing to help humanity, but if she’s honest, she could do without the spotlight. If only there was a way to do it incognito, so as to spare herself the anxiety she had felt today when presenting Monsieur Fu with the black box. She would certainly feel a lot more comfortable if she could find a way to work behind the scenes…</p><p>A thought strikes her, and she grins. Alya is always going on about comics and the daring feats of her favorite superheroes. By and large, they all do the same thing she wants to do: they help people. </p><p>And what do those superheroes also all have in common? Why, a secret identity, of course.</p><p>Then, she remembers the earrings burning a hole in her pocket, and what Monsieur Fu had told her. <em>Ladybugs are a symbol of good luck</em>. </p><p>A new plan forms. Paris is no Gotham, Marinette knows. There’s no need for a vigilante superhero like Batman to protect its citizens from harm. But everyone could use a little luck. Perhaps...perhaps a masked Ladybug would be a welcome addition to her beloved city. Saving the world, one good deed at a time.</p><p><em>Yes</em>, Marinette thinks with a grin. <em>That will do nicely. </em></p><p>She enters her flat and runs straight to her sewing table, giddy with excitement. Her mind races as she thinks about the kinds of fabric she’ll need for the design she has in mind. </p><p>She hopes that this silly, fun idea will bring joy to those living in her tiny corner of the world. </p><p>(It will. But it will also do so much more.)</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. March 26</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Finally, Chat Noir makes his first appearance!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Marinette's transformation into Ladybug starts small. When it’s her turn to order at André’s, she pays for the ice cream cone of the little kid waiting behind her in line. She leaves packets of birdseed at the park bench where Monsieur Ramier always sits to feed his beloved pigeons. Though each mission is performed in secret, Marinette can’t ignore the thrill that runs through her when she sees the happiness on the faces of the people she helps. It’s not quite the rush she had felt after helping Monsieur Fu, but it gives her something to do as she looks for newer, bigger opportunities.</p><p>Work becomes her reconnaissance ground. Every day, she keeps her ears open as she passes amid the tables at <em>Le 21e</em> or rings up orders at the bakery. The patrons are all but too willing to discuss their woes, and Dr. Marinette offers a sympathetic ear, mentally filing each complaint as she quietly devises a cure for their ills. She tuts when Marc tosses their latest manuscript in the garbage after yet another rejection; she asks Manon what her dream job would be when she’s stressing out over summer internships; she encourages Rose and Juleka not to abandon their musical dreams when they confess that low turnout at their shows is affecting band morale.</p><p>Marinette listens, and she plans. Admittedly, some of her plans are a little more complex than they need to be, but she figures that as long as they work, she can do things as she likes. </p><p>(However, as she is about to discover, the problem with getting her ideas from the café is that the beneficiaries of these good deeds are just as chatty about their newfound luck as they are about their misfortunes.)</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>It is 15:06, and as usual, the bakery is bustling with activity. Adrien is deciding between a slice of <em>fraisier </em>and a <em>tarte au citron </em>when a teenage girl bursts into the shop, bubbling with excitement. </p><p>“You won’t believe what happened to me!” she exclaims.</p><p>Tom lets out a jovial laugh at the young customer's outburst. “You know, Manon, you’re the third person I’ve heard say that today.”</p><p>Manon is undeterred. “But this is actually a legit miracle! I just got an email from the <em>IIM </em>asking if I’m interested in interviewing for a summer position. <em>IIM! </em>And <em>they </em>emailed <em>me!</em>”</p><p>“Well, that’s wonderful news!” Tom says. He pauses, his brow crinkling in a mix of happiness and confusion. “What’s the <em>IIM </em>again?”</p><p>“It’s the <em>Institut International de la Marionnette</em>,” she explains. “They’re this amazing non-profit in Charleville-Mézières that specializes in puppetry arts. They do research, handle artist residencies...oh my goodness, I’m so excited about this, I can’t even handle it! I’ve got to start looking up places to stay...”</p><p>Sabine smiles indulgently at Manon. “Well, I remember those dolls you and Marinette used to play with when you were younger. I’m not surprised that you got a call back - it sounds like a perfect fit.”</p><p>The teenager shakes her head, insistent. “That might be true - and thank you, by the way - but that’s not what makes it a miracle. The miraculous part is that <em>I didn’t even apply</em>. I asked my prof if she recommended me, but she said she wasn’t planning to send out recommendations for another week.” </p><p>That detail gets Adrien’s attention. He perks up as the conversation expands to include the other customers at the bakery. (He isn't fooling anyone; his eyes may be on the tarts, but his ears are definitely trained on the shop talk. This seems to explain why everyone suddenly starts speaking a little more loudly than usual.)</p><p>“You know, that sounds a little bit like what happened to Nathaniel Kurtzberg,” Caline Bustier observes. “You remember him, Marinette? I believe you were both in my class in <em>collège</em>.”</p><p>Adrien surreptitiously follows Mademoiselle Bustier’s gaze to the wide-eyed girl on the other side of the counter, who nods mutely.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Despite her often lonely upbringing, Marinette has never considered herself to be exceptionally shy or quiet. In fact, she can give Alya a run for her money when she’s on a roll about something. At this particular moment, however, that is not the case. </p><p>At this particular moment, she is totally speechless. </p><p>On the one hand, she is genuinely excited for Manon - and relieved that the girl hasn’t figured out who swiped the copy of her resume that she was editing in the café last week. On the other hand, Marinette wishes she could disappear into the floor. With the way all this talk is going, she’s convinced that someone will put two and two together and realize that she is the one responsible. </p><p>It doesn’t help that Adrien Agreste is around to hear all this chatter, either. Not that she’s interested in <em>him</em>, of course - no matter how much her parents gush about him, two awkward encounters plus the knowledge that he’s friends with Chloe are enough to nip her former crush in the bud for good (or at least, that’s what she tells herself whenever his smile threatens to invade her consciousness). Thankfully, she’s mostly managed to avoid being in the shop whenever he’s happened to pass by - which is practically every day. </p><p>Nonetheless, for reasons she can't explain, the idea of him finding out she is the one behind Manon’s good fortune is more embarrassing than if it were anyone else. As a result, she remains uncharacteristically silent, alternately elated and terrified by the conversation that continues to play out in the bakery. </p><p>(Her internal monologue, however, rages unabated.)</p><p>Mademoiselle Bustier continues, seemingly oblivious to her former student's inner turmoil. “Anyway, I ran into Nathaniel the other day and he told me that someone sent him a manuscript out of the blue, asking if he’d be interested in collaborating to develop it into a graphic novel. He says it’s very good; he showed it to his agent and now they’re trying to track down the author so that they can set something up. Marc something-or-other.” </p><p><em>Whew</em>. Marinette stifles a sigh of relief. Though she had expected her former classmate would like Marc's style, she had been nervous about dropping the manuscript off at Nathaniel's doorstep for fear that he would think it was some kind of elaborate prank.</p><p>“Wait - do you mean Marc Anciel?” Manon asks with a laugh. “You tell Nathaniel that he doesn’t need to look any further than next door - they practically live at <em>Le 21e</em>!”</p><p>Relief quickly morphs into paranoia. <em>This is it. This is how everyone figures it all out. Marc is my customer, Nath was my classmate. I'm the link. They have to know </em>I am the link<em>! It's just. so. obvious!</em></p><p>Mademoiselle Bustier leans back, surprised. “Really? That is quite a coincidence. I will definitely let him know.”</p><p>Tom grins. “Oh, that will be such a nice surprise for Marc. From what I’ve heard, they haven't had much luck with getting their work published.”</p><p>
  <em>Papa heard that from me. Oh God, this is the end. My secret identity, already compromised. I fail at life.</em>
</p><p>Sabine taps her chin bemusedly. “You know, I have noticed an uptick in these kinds of incidents lately. It seems that every day someone comes in here with some unexpected good news, or mentioning a mysterious gift. It appears that there is a Good Samaritan operating in our midst!”</p><p>Marinette subtly tries to engage in deep breathing exercises as her anxiety rises. <em>Maman is one of the most perceptive people on the planet; she's the last person I need getting curious about this.</em></p><p>Yet another customer pipes up. “Yes! You know Alya, from the café next door? She's noticed it too; she’s started tracking these incidents on her blog. Whoever they are, they are quite active in the 4th.” </p><p>
  <em>Scratch that. ALYA is the last person I need getting curious. And she's started blogging about it??? Since when???</em>
</p><p>Marinette resists the desperate urge to escape the bakery entirely. What she needs is a distraction - or, at the very least, something to bring everyone back to reality. </p><p>She hazards a glance at Adrien, who has been attentive but not directly engaged in the conversation. She sighs inwardly. </p><p>
  <em>He'll have to do.</em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Adrien is so fascinated by this entire exchange that by this point, he has abandoned any pretense of looking at the pastries in the display case and is openly following along with the conversation. While he has no idea who any of the people are that everyone’s talking about, he’s intrigued by the possibility of some vigilante do-gooder prowling about the neighborhood in search of people to help. </p><p>He’s about to ask for more information about this Alya person’s blog when there’s the sound of someone clearing their throat to his right. “Have you decided what you wanted?” a voice asks.</p><p>“Huh?” He turns to face the girl at the counter, but he’s still trying to keep track of what's being said at the other end of the shop. “I’ll just get...um...a <em>tarte amandine</em>,” he says distractedly, naming the first confection his eyes land on.</p><p>"Certainly," she says, making quick work of his request. "That will be three euros, please."</p><p>To Adrien's disappointment, the other customers in the shop seem to take that as a cue return to the normal business of the day, and the previous conversation comes to an unexpected halt. Shrugging, Adrien pulls out his wallet and drops a five euro note into the young woman’s hand. “Keep the change,” he says, giving her a smile.</p><p>The shop assistant - Marinette, someone had called her - doesn't seem to know how to respond. A strained smile crosses her face before her eyes dart downward. She processes his payment and extends a small pastry box toward him without so much as another glance.</p><p>Adrien rubs the back of his neck, puzzled by her lack of eye contact. <em>She seems upset. Is she upset with </em>me<em>?</em> <em>Was I being rude just now? I thought tipping was supposed to be a good thing!</em></p><p>He takes the box from her outstretched hand. “Okay, well...have a good day, then. Oh, and, um -  thank you.”</p><p>“You too, Adrien! Thanks for stopping by!” Tom booms. </p><p>Adrien leaves the shop with an awkward wave. However, his mind is still on how the girl behind the counter could barely look at him, and he hopes he hasn’t accidentally done anything to embarrass her. Adrien tries to think back to when he may have seen her last, and the only instance that comes to mind is the day he visited the bakery for the first time. Of course, they hadn’t spoken, and she hadn’t seemed inclined to say much at the time. Perhaps because she had been covered in flour. <em>Maybe that’s what she was thinking about? </em>(In fairness to him, under normal circumstances that would actually be a pretty good guess.)</p><p>But then he remembers where he’d seen a similar flash of panic. <em>She’s the girl I bowled over at the </em>Mairie <em>a couple weeks ago, </em>he realizes<em>. No wonder she feels awkward around me.</em> Adrien kicks himself, suddenly feeling guilty about his unintentionally rude behavior. Instantly, he resolves to make amends. <em>I should introduce myself properly next time, make her feel more comfortable. </em></p><p>Adrien checks the time on his phone and realizes Marinette's interruption had been a blessing in disguise. He would have been happy to stand there and listen to neighborhood gossip all day; unfortunately, his scooter is at the shop, and if he doesn’t hop on the métro soon, he’ll be late for work. Marcelle is a friendlier boss than Plagg, but she’s a stickler for punctuality. Best to get a move on.</p><p>He's comforted by the fact that he'll be able to sit down and enjoy his tartlet on his way to work - assuming no one recognizes him. (He’ll change his mind once he actually enters the métro station - not because someone recognizes him, but because it’s entirely too crowded and smelly on the subway for him to savor his food.)</p><p>Pulling the hood of his sweatshirt over his head, Adrien hustles off to Saint-Paul station, all talk of undercover do-gooders forgotten. For now.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>It is 22:31. A masked Marinette groans as she hefts herself onto the roof of a photo booth, a large stack of posters precariously clutched under one arm. This isn’t one of her brighter ideas, she realizes, at least not from a logistical standpoint. If she had a ladder and someone to spot her, then that might be a different story - but she’s on her own, so she has to improvise. </p><p>The whoosh of an arriving train causes her to freeze. Marinette keeps her eyes trained on the wall in front of her as she waits for the passengers to clear the platform before resuming her task. It’s late, so she doesn’t expect much in the way of foot traffic, and she’s far enough from her neighborhood that she doesn’t expect to run into anyone she recognizes. Still, the conversation at the bakery is still very fresh in her memory.  One can never be too careful.</p><p><em>Famous last words</em>, she thinks, when her foot slips on an errant flyer and sends her tumbling from the machine with a squeak.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Adrien pulls his hood up a little tighter over his head as he stalks out of the train and past the gaggle of teenage girls that have been staring at him since he got on at Porte Dorée. It's moments like these that remind him why he bought his scooter in the first place, and he makes a mental note to follow up with his mechanic as soon as possible. At the very least, he's grateful that he hadn't bothered to remove his mask after his shift. He wouldn't want to disappoint Marcelle by having to quit just as the funfair is getting underway.</p><p>He glances up at the system map to double check his route. <em>Shit.</em> In his attempt to evade potential fangirls, he’d gotten out at the wrong stop. </p><p>Adrien turns around and heads back down the steps toward the platform. As he descends, he notices a female figure, clad in a red polka dotted hoodie and black leggings, perched precariously on top of a photo booth near the bottom of the stairs. A stack of papers lies scattered at her feet as she leans over on tiptoe to plaster a flyer onto the wall next to her.</p><p><em>That photo booth doesn't look very safe</em>, he thinks, quickening his steps. <em>A bad situation could develop quickly.</em></p><p>He gets there just in time to see her fall.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Marinette braces herself to hit the ground. She’s surprised to find herself in a stranger’s arms. </p><p>A masked stranger, no less.</p><p>“Why hello, Little Red Riding Hoodie. Nice of you to drop in.” </p><p>The sound of his voice sends a jolt through her. Their eyes lock, and he grins. The black fabric of his mask makes the green of his irises almost glow, and there’s a warmth in his smile that feels unnervingly familiar. </p><p>Marinette can feel her heart thumping wildly in her chest. (It’s a natural reaction one would expect to have after literally falling for a person one finds attractive. But, as she is unaware that he is anything other than a masked man who likes to catch random women and make puns, it does not register as such. It feels more like embarrassment.)</p><p>“Sorry, I didn’t do it on purpose.” She jumps out of his arms, adjusting her own mask to ensure it's still in place before brushing herself off. “But, um, thank you.”</p><p>“It’s no trouble. I’m just glad you’re not hurt." </p><p>Marinette's stomach flips at the honeyed tone of his voice. Curious, she studies the figure standing before her. He’s dressed all in black. The hood of his sweatshirt has fallen back to reveal a shock of messy blond hair, accented by a pair of black cat ears that match his mask. There seems to be a confidence in his stance, like dressing in this manner is completely natural. (Marinette ignores the fact that she is dressed similarly, of course.) </p><p>She can’t decide if she finds it annoying or charming. </p><p>The masked man grins again, almost as if he can hear her thoughts. "And hey, look. We match. Aside from the ears, I mean...but not everyone can pull them off like I can,” he adds with a wink.</p><p><em>Definitely annoying</em>, she decides. “Pardon me?” </p><p>“You know...you’ve got a mask, I’ve got a mask. The coincidence is simply a-mask-ing! Do you work at the Foire du Trône, too?”</p><p>“What? No, I…" Marinette trails off, not sure of how to explain herself. "The mask is for something else,” she finishes lamely.</p><p>"Sounds very...mysterious. You sure you’re not hiding some dark secret?” he says, almost teasingly. “I won’t judge. Trust me, I've seen everything."</p><p>Marinette feels her face grow hot. This was awkward to begin with, but now this meeting is veering into uncharted territory. She starts to back away. “I’m...gonna...go.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Adrien smacks himself internally. There is something about this masked girl - no, woman - that draws him in...and apparently makes him behave like a total idiot. Despite her clear irritation with his glibness, there’s something in the way her blue eyes shine beneath her mask that completely captivates him. He feels certain that if she runs off now, he’ll never see her again. And for reasons Adrien can’t quite fathom, he doesn’t want that to happen. </p><p>He catches her elbow before she can escape. "No, wait!" he pleads. "Sorry. I have a weird job. Several of them, actually. Kind of makes you forget how to interact with real people. But I am curious as to what you were doing up there before I caught you."</p><p>His words have the desired effect, and she pauses, blowing out an exasperated sigh. "It’s a secret."</p><p>"I’m very good at keeping secrets," he tells her earnestly. "I’m also tall. I could help you, if you wanted?"</p><p>An awkward pause follows. “Yeah, okay,” she concedes at last. She points to the incomplete patchwork of flyers she has plastered onto the wall. "I need help putting the rest of these up. I had this idea of creating a bit of a floor-to-ceiling mosaic kind of effect, which I thought would look really cool since they’re all in different colors. Only problem is, I didn’t think to bring a ladder, so...”</p><p>The masked woman trails off as Adrien bends down to pick up a flyer that has fallen to the ground. The words <em>Kitty Section </em>are splashed across the top, along with details for an upcoming show. </p><p>“Let me get this straight,” he says, looking up at her. “You’ve been putting these flyers up...presumably illegally...while wearing a mask...and no one’s given you a hard time about it?”</p><p>A hint of red crosses the apples of her cheeks. “Y-yes? I mean, I guess it’s kind of a miracle that none of the station staff has yelled at me yet. But if anyone asks, I just tell them I’m in charge of the band’s promotion. Kitty Section almost always wear masks when they’re performing.” </p><p>Adrien whistles. “No, it’s great. I’m just impressed, is all.” He changes topics, not wanting to put her on the spot any longer. “So...posters?”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The next few minutes pass in relative quiet. Few words are exchanged between them, but they are able to complete the task quickly and efficiently. Marinette finds herself grateful for the masked man’s assistance, even if she doesn’t even know his name.</p><p>“Well, that’s that batch,” Marinette says with a satisfied smile. “Just three more stations to go.”</p><p>“<em>Three more?!</em>” he cries, his eyes wide. “Do you realize what time it is? Don’t tell me you’re the only one promoting this group!”</p><p>Marinette wrings her hands. “Well...they don’t actually know I’m doing it. It’s supposed to be a surprise.” </p><p>He peers at her curiously, then says something that nearly makes her jump out of her skin.</p><p>“Wait a minute. I know who you are!”</p><p>Marinette is shocked. “Y-y-you do?” she splutters. <em>There goes my cover</em>, she thinks. <em>It's like earlier at the bakery, only worse. Whoever this guy is, he’ll tell someone, who will tell someone else, who will tell someone I know. I’ll never live this one down, and then I’ll have to find a new job because I won’t be able to look anyone at the café in the eye - especially Alya, oh God, especially Alya. Is she going to put this on her blog?? Ugh, of course she will. And Maman and Papa will be so embarrassed that they'll have to shut down the bakery and move to the country, and then-</em></p><p>“Yeah,” the masked man says, interrupting her internal freakout moment. “You're the one going around doing all these good deeds, aren't you?" He pauses, smiling as a thought strikes him. "But you don't <em>want </em>people to know you’re the one doing them, do you? <em>That's </em>why you're wearing the mask.”</p><p>She feels relief that he doesn't actually know who she is...followed by suspicion. “How did you know it's me?”</p><p>“I mean, haven't you heard? You're the talk of the neighborhood. There's a blog about your good deeds and everything. All the locals are dying to figure out who you are.”</p><p>She raises a brow at him. “And you're a local?”</p><p>He shrugs. “Not exactly. You?”</p><p>“Not exactly,” she parrots back. “Look, you're not going to tell anyone about me, are you?”</p><p>“Of course not,” he intones. “I mean, I think it's really cool what you're doing, but if you really want to keep your identity on the down low, that's fine by me. I told you - I'm good at keeping secrets.”</p><p>Her shoulders slump in relief. “Thank you,” she says.</p><p>“But…”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“But, what?” the woman asks, her annoyance back in full force. </p><p>Adrien falters, second guessing whether he should continue. He’s not entirely sure how the idea suddenly came to him, or if it's even feasible; he's busy enough as it is. Besides, it’s not like he doesn’t have opportunities to do philanthropic work through the company (even if his father had only agreed to it because Adrien had argued doing so was <em>useful in maintaining the Agreste image</em>). </p><p>But this? Doing good deeds undercover? This is different. No one will know he’s involved, so there'll be no one questioning what his motives are. To be able to help for no other reason than he feels like it? The more he thinks about it, the more allure the idea holds.</p><p>(Of course, it’s not just the idea in itself that is alluring. There is also the matter of the blue-eyed brunette tapping her foot impatiently in front of him, waiting for an answer.)</p><p>“I'm just saying...if you feel like teaming up with someone - someone taller than you, for instance - I'd make an a-<em>meow</em>-zing assistant.” Adrien scratches behind the faux cat ears on his head for dramatic effect. "If it makes you feel any better, I'm not gonna try and steal your thunder. Just make whatever plans you want and tell me what to do, Milady. I’m very good at following directions," he adds impishly.</p><p>The masked woman snorts. "You can start by not calling me <em>Milady</em>.” </p><p>"Well, then, what should I call you?"</p><p>She fidgets with her mask. "Ladybug," she says. "You can call me Ladybug."</p><p>"As you wish, Ladybug," he says, giving her a little bow as he extends a hand. For a moment he considers giving her the alias he uses for work, but lands on something more theatrical as an alternative. "And you can call me...Chat Noir."</p><p>"Nice to meet you." Grudgingly, she extends her own hand. Adrien resists the strange urge he has to kiss it. </p><p>They shake, and an unlikely partnership is born.</p><p>“So,” he says, “which station do we hit next?”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>It’s nearly midnight by the time the last posters go up. Marinette brushes a strand of hair off her brow, feeling tired but triumphant. The poster display actually looks amazing, if she says so herself. She glances over at Chat Noir, who is likewise admiring their handiwork. <em>This really was a job for two people</em>, she realizes. He turns and gives her a fist bump, grinning at her as if he’s thinking the exact same thing. </p><p>Actually, now that she thinks about it, he hasn’t stopped smiling this whole time. </p><p>“What’s your deal, anyway?” The question comes out a little more rudely than she had intended, but Chat just laughs it off.</p><p>“You mean, what am I doing up this late, traipsing around the Paris métro in a mask with a total stranger? I could ask the same of you,” he replies.</p><p>“Touché,” she says, the corners of her mouth turning upwards in spite of herself. “But why the mask? I mean, I already told you why I’ve got mine. Is there some dark secret <em>you're </em>hiding?”</p><p>“I don’t think we know each other well enough for that, Ladybug,” he retorts. “Besides, masks are great. All the most iconic characters have them. Batman, Dread Pirate Roberts, Phantom of the Opera…”</p><p>Marinette smirks at him. “So does that make you the secret billionaire, the master swordsman, or the disfigured musical genius?”</p><p>Chat puffs out his chest. “A bit of all three, actually.”</p><p>She can’t help but chuckle at his reply. “You’re quite the jokester, aren’t you?”</p><p>He shrugs. “Hey, if the mask fits…”</p><p>Marinette rolls her eyes, but there’s no malice in her expression. “Well, whatever your reason, thanks for helping me tonight.”</p><p>“It was my pleasure, Milady,” Chat says with another little bow. “I look forward to the next one.”</p><p>“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” she warns. “But...I guess I can reach out if I need help next time.”</p><p>“How?”</p><p>“Just keep your eyes peeled for signs,” she says cryptically. </p><p>Chat scratches his head, an amused smile playing at his lips once more. “Whatever you have planned sounds overly complicated to me. But I have a feeling that this is just how you do things, so I’m gonna go with it.” </p><p>A train arrives at the platform, and he hops on. “I’ll be waiting for your signal,” he says with a cheerful wave. “Thanks, Ladybug. Have a good night!”</p><p>The doors close, and Marinette watches the train depart, taking the mystery man with it. She finds herself confused by, if not a little envious of, the chipper confidence and careless abandon with which he’d thrown himself into her little project. She wishes she could be a little bit more like that. </p><p>(Little does she know that he’s left the station wishing he could be a little bit more like her.)</p><p>Still, she finds it oddly comforting to know that she’s not alone, that she has someone that she can potentially lean on as she pursues this little quest of hers. The fact that she doesn’t know who he is doesn’t really bother her - in fact, it’s kind of nice. There’s no pressure to behave or talk a certain way, and he’s already made it clear that he’s happy to follow her lead. When it comes to her collaboration with Chat Noir, at least, Marinette feels like she is completely in control of her destiny.</p><p>(Is she really in control of her destiny? Not quite yet. But the illusion of control does help for now.)</p><p>Her true destiny, however...that will reveal itself in time.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. April</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Please enjoy some Ladynoir fluff as we wait for Marinette and Adrien to get their act together (it's still going to be a while).</p><p>Heads up that there is a mention of sex toys at the end of the chapter. Comes with the territory of Adrien's side gig, but hopefully nothing too scandalous.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It is the 12th of April. Adrien relishes the feel of the sun on his back as he zooms along the Quai de la Tournelle, smiling appreciatively at the booksellers and artists whose stands line the Seine River.  After so many years being chauffeured around in a car with tinted windows, riding solo on his Vespa affords him the opportunity to experience the Paris he’d been sequestered from for far too long. The feeling of freedom that comes with it is unmatched by few other things.</p><p>Adrien’s smile grows into a flat out grin as he maneuvers his way past a throng of cars toward St-Germain-des-Prés. <em>Today</em>, he thinks, <em>is the perfect kind of day for exploring</em>. </p><p>It’s also Adrien’s first time out for a ride in over a month. However, this is not to say that he’s been terribly upset about the separation from his beloved scooter (especially considering that his Vespa came back from the shop more than a week ago). In truth, he’s kind of gotten used to taking the métro everywhere over the past few weeks. If you were to ask him, he would tell you that the experience of traversing the city underground gives him yet another opportunity to observe, to learn about what it really means to be a Parisian. </p><p>(It’s an honest sentiment, but only to a point. The real reason he does it has everything to do with Ladybug.)</p><p>It happens like this: whenever Ladybug has an idea she could use some help with, she leaves him a note. Literally. She's developed a habit of leaving signs in the métro, especially on those automatic photo booths. It's a crude form of communication, but she seems adamant that they keep a kind of distance between them. </p><p>Until now, Adrien’s been fine with the arrangement. But now that they’ve been working together for a few weeks, he thinks it might be a good idea to change things up a bit. Especially if it means he can start using his scooter again. </p><p>A couple hundred meters away, Adrien spies a free parking spot and zips into the space before anyone can steal it from him. Smiling at this little victory, he peels off his helmet, making sure to readjust his mask after. He looks around for signs of Ladybug’s arrival. His lady, he can’t help but notice, has a tendency to arrive slightly tardy - even though she’s the one who sets the schedule. Still, he can’t help the smile that spreads across his face when he sees her rounding the corner in her usual red and black hoodie.</p><p>“Nice ride,” Ladybug comments as she approaches. “Very...orange.”</p><p>Adrien pats the handlebar with pride. “Thanks. First time taking Naruto out in a while.”</p><p>“Naruto, huh?” The corner of Ladybug’s mouth twitches upward as she speaks. </p><p><em>Oh, so you think that’s funny? Two can play at that game</em>, he thinks with a smirk.</p><p>“Yeah. Been using the métro a lot more lately. Good thing too, or I wouldn't be able to get these.” He pulls a pink piece of paper out of his pocket and waves it in her face. "You know, you're starting to kill a bunch of trees with all these notes you're leaving me. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm flattered. I've never had a girl write love letters to me before."</p><p>She snorts. "They literally only tell you a time and place."</p><p>"Yeah but it's hit and miss, right? Plus, what if some weirdo sees you putting them up and shows up to blow our cover?" He knows he’s laying it on thick, but it’s  not completely without cause. He shudders at the recent memory of the squirrely-looking fellow he had spotted milling about Place de la Concorde, a handful of familiar flyers clutched in his fist. He’s not sure what the guy had been up to, but he’s glad he and Ladybug had gotten out of there before they found out.</p><p>“Fair enough," she concedes. "You have a better idea, then?”</p><p>“Well, this is the 21st century, and nowadays many people have access to this amazing pocket-sized communication device known as a smartphone…”</p><p>Ladybug shifts from side to side, uncertain. “I don’t know…”</p><p>“Don't you trust me, Milady?” he asks.</p><p>The two engage in a silent battle of wills, and there is a moment - a fraction of a second, really - in which Adrien wavers, convinced that he’s pushed too hard. </p><p>(That flash of insecurity manifests in the form of an incredibly soft kitten-eyes look, which is actually what ultimately tilts the argument in his favor.)</p><p>“Fine,” she says at last. “But this isn't like an invitation or anything. If I happen to need help, I'll let you know. If you can make it, then cool. If not, no big deal.”</p><p>“Right. Like a Bat-signal. No, a Chat-signal.” Adrien’s pun is met with Ladybug’s signature eye roll. He’s gotten quite used to them by now. </p><p>“Sure, fine, whatever. But I’m serious - no random texts. Mission related communication only. Let’s keep things...professional.”</p><p>“Professional, sure.” Adrien nods solemnly, but his smile tells a different story. She can call it whenever she wants; he’s just excited to have his new friend’s phone number. </p><p>Then, another thought: <em>I’ve got a friend.</em></p><p>Adrien’s smile widens. “So, what’s today’s mission?”</p><p>A gleam comes to Ladybug’s eye. “There’s a little old man I know who’s been cooped up at home for far too long. We’re going to give him the nudge he needs to get out and explore the world a little.”</p><p>(What she doesn't say is that the little old man she is referring to is none other than her grandfather. Nor does she hint that this "nudge" is likely to result in her grandfather angrily phoning the police to report a theft - or as Officer Raincomprix will later call it, <em>grand gnome larceny</em>.</p><p>Adrien is, of course, oblivious to this. But even if he did know, he would probably go along with her plan, anyway.)</p><p>"I am at your command, Milady," he says with a gallant bow. "Lead the way."</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>It is the 14th of April. Marinette is standing over Monsieur Fu’s kitchen table, laying out an arrangement of her parents’ macarons on a plate. It’s become a regular thing since their meeting last month, with the two sharing a warm drink, leftover bakery treats, and easy conversation on any number of topics....he's even offered to help her practice her Mandarin. Fu is a lonely man, Marinette surmises. He could use a bit of friendly company now and again. </p><p>(Then again, so could she.)</p><p>Monsieur Fu also happens to be the only person in her real life who knows about her secret work as Ladybug. Given that he’s the one who inspired her to take on this alter ego, she feels it’s only fair. Besides, he’s so sharp that he probably would have figured it out on his own.</p><p>The upside is that she has someone else to talk about this stuff with...even if he's in his 70s, and a lot nosier than outward appearances might suggest.</p><p>"So, does this mean you are officially partners?"</p><p>Marinette shrugs. “I mean, it's just my number. We still don't know each other all that well. And I only really reach out if it's something I know I can't do alone, or without risking my identity.” </p><p>"Such as?"</p><p>“Well, there was that one time at the zoo, where we dropped off some things for Alya’s dad. And the other day he stole - I mean, borrowed - a gnome from my grandfather’s garden while I distracted the flour delivery guy. There have been a couple other times, too. I dunno...he just seems to be more comfortable wearing his mask in public. I think he wears one for his job, actually. Does that make sense?”</p><p>"I suppose. Does it bother you?"</p><p>"That he’s good at all the stuff I can’t do? No, it works out perfectly."</p><p>"Makes him a perfect partner, then. He seems to complement you."</p><p>“I guess.” She hadn’t really thought of that before. </p><p>“And it must be useful to lighten the load somewhat. Perhaps it's given you an opportunity to explore other things, as well?”</p><p>Marinette looks away. She knows exactly what Fu is talking about, even if he doesn’t say so explicitly. Her mind travels to her unfinished sewing projects, her fashion portfolio, and all those jobs she hasn't applied for yet. “I’ve still been pretty busy,” she replies evasively.</p><p>Eager to change the subject, Marinette crosses the room to examine an easel Monsieur Fu has set up by the window. Leaning against it is the half-finished replica of a familiar painting. "I know this piece!" she says. </p><p>Fu joins her, smiling at his work like that of a proud father. "Ah yes, <em>The Luncheon of the Boating Party</em>. Auguste Renoir. I’ve painted one every year since I retired. It's like therapy; the characters speak to me, share their secrets." Using the end of his paintbrush, he taps at the canvas. "One of the revelers still continues to elude me, however."</p><p>She looks more closely at the figure. "The girl with the glass of water?"</p><p>He nods in reply. "I can never get her expression quite right. You see, she is in the middle of all the action, and yet she seems like she's on the outside."</p><p>"Maybe she's distracted?"</p><p>"That's one possibility. Or maybe she is so concerned about how much everyone is enjoying the picnic that she is not taking the time to enjoy her surroundings."</p><p>The comment stings for some reason. Marinette feels a sudden urge to come to the defense of this imaginary character. "Or maybe she is perfectly happy with how things are in her life, and wants to make sure that everyone else around her is as happy as she is."</p><p>"Perhaps. Or maybe…"</p><p>"Maybe, what?" she asks with a frown.</p><p>"Maybe we both have it wrong. Maybe she is thinking about someone who isn't there at all."</p><p>A picture of Chat Noir pops into her head unbidden, making Marinette stop short. </p><p><em>Why did I suddenly think of him?</em> she wonders. <em>Must be Monsieur Fu’s fault for bringing him up earlier. Sure, Chat’s a nice guy and fun to work with, but there isn’t much more to it than that. </em></p><p>Marinette shakes the thought of Chat away, annoyed. They’re friends - at most.  He’s not someone she’s supposed to think about outside of their missions.</p><p>
  <em>Think of someone else.</em>
</p><p>She shocks herself a second time when the next face to pop into her head is that of Adrien Agreste.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“More dumplings, Adrien?”</p><p>It is the 20th of April. Adrien is having a quiet lunch with Sabine in the apartment above the bakery, and it’s all he can do to contain his giddiness about it. He’s absolutely thrilled to have graduated from customer to friend - two new friends in just over a month! - but it’s probably better if he pretends that his excitement is all about the food.</p><p>(Which, in fairness, isn’t actually much of a stretch. If the Dupain-Cheng croissants are good, then Sabine’s <em>xiao long bao</em> can only be described as heavenly.)</p><p>Adrien nods eagerly in response to Sabine’s offer, holding his bowl out like a small child as she doles out another helping. “Are you sure Tom doesn’t mind?”</p><p>She waves away his concern with a laugh. “In my family, we have a saying: there are the quick, and there are the hungry. I called him upstairs for lunch and he insisted on finishing up a special order, even if he knows perfectly well that it doesn’t need to be ready for three more days! Such a perfectionist, just like my Marinette. Now, eat! I made plenty, so you don’t need to feel sorry for Tom.”</p><p>Adrien needs no further encouragement. He lifts a steaming pillow of delight up to his lips and nibbles at the top, briefly marveling at the way the broth spills out onto his soup spoon, before consuming the entire thing with a satisfying <em>slurp</em>.</p><p>Sabine laughs, impressed at his technique. “Looks like you know your dumplings!” He beams happily at her praise, unable to remember the last time he had such a pleasant meal.</p><p>The only thing that could make it perfect would be if it didn’t feel like Tom and Sabine’s daughter disliked him so much. </p><p>That wistful feeling only seems to intensify as lunch continues. Indeed, the more he listens to Sabine gush about her daughter’s many accomplishments (<em>“Can you believe she designed an album cover for Jagged Stone when she was in collège?”</em>), the more puzzled he feels about how Marinette seems dead set on avoiding his gaze whenever they both happen to be in the shop at the same time. They’re the same age, and share a lot of the same interests. Aside from a couple of awkward encounters, there’s no good reason why they shouldn’t get along. In fact, he likes to think they could be good friends. Why wouldn’t they be? </p><p><em>Unless...unless I’m the problem?</em> It can’t be Marinette - that much he knows. He’s heard nothing but good things about her. How she’s so kind, so helpful...and so clumsy - but in a sweet, endearing way. All this talk even makes him think she’s a little bit like Ladybug.</p><p><em>Whoa. Where did </em>that <em>come from?</em></p><p>Adrien allows himself a moment to consider the possibility that the two women could actually be one and the same. They do, after all, share some intriguing similarities physically...not that he’s been thinking about either of their physical qualities. </p><p>(This is, of course, a bit of a lie.)</p><p>He quickly shakes the thought free. <em>Looks aren’t everything</em>, he reminds himself. <em>Just because they’re both...attractive...doesn’t mean they’re the same person.</em> Marinette’s great, he’s sure, but there is something about Ladybug’s confident, no-nonsense attitude that feels out of step with what he knows about Sabine’s daughter. Because, for as much as people sing her praises, there also sometimes seems to be a note of something resembling pity in their tone of voice when Marinette’s not around. While they never say so out loud, Adrien gets the sense that they worry about her. He can’t imagine anyone ever worrying about Ladybug; she’s got a fierceness about her that has him convinced that she can handle anything that life throws at her. </p><p>“Adrien, do you think I could get your thoughts on something?”</p><p>Sabine’s voice draws him back to the present, and his cheeks darken. “Of course!” he replies brightly. “What’s on your mind?” </p><p>She pauses to sip her tea. "I was just thinking about you and Marinette...”</p><p>Adrien gapes at her. <em>Holy shit! Is she a mind reader or something?</em> “Y-yes…?”</p><p>“And, well, I’m sure you’d prefer not to let your celebrity status be a topic of conversation, but the truth is, Marinette has admired you - your work, I mean, and that of your father’s - for years now. She did her degree in fashion, did you know that? Anyway, I was just thinking, since you’re in the fashion industry, and she wants to work in the fashion industry eventually... she’s been so hesitant to apply, and I feel like she might benefit from having someone talk to her who’s closer to her age. I don’t think Marinette would want any favors, exactly - but perhaps you could give her some tips on getting a job at a fashion house like the Gabriel brand?"</p><p>It takes Adrien a minute to formulate an intelligible response, shocked as he is by the preamble to Sabine’s request. <em>Marinette admires me? Since when?</em> </p><p>(It will be quite a while yet before he figures out the answer to this question. However, when he finally does, you can be sure that Marinette never hears the end of it.)</p><p>Of course, as soon as he recovers from his surprise at the idea that Marinette may not actually hate him, a new dilemma pops up just as quickly. The truth is, he’d love to help her. He probably could, too. It’s just that he really doesn’t want to subject anyone to his father's true nature, especially given her apparent admiration for his work. <em>Besides, it would only be something else for Father to hold over my head</em>, he thinks bitingly. </p><p>The difficulty, of course, lies in trying to say so without sounding like an ungrateful jerk. </p><p>“Well, it's a tough industry,” Adrien hedges. “It's not enough to be good. A man like my father...he values talent, but people don’t last long if they don’t have the ambition to match. I wouldn’t push Marinette into applying until she’s truly ready to dive in, you know?” He cringes as the words come out; the response feels like a cop out, and he knows it.</p><p>Sabine seems disappointed, but smiles anyway. “I suppose you’re right. I shouldn't even be interfering, talking to you about her like this. I just...I know my daughter is meant for bigger things than helping us out at the bakery, or working part-time at a café. She’s so talented, and she has her own dreams. I don't want her to hold back on them because of us.”</p><p>Adrien is touched by Sabine's devotion, and a little pang hits his heart as his thoughts momentarily stray to his own mother. It's been more than ten years, but he likes to think that Emilie Agreste would have behaved similarly had she been in the same position. <em>Marinette is definitely one lucky girl.</em></p><p>“I don't think you need to feel guilty about it," he says reassuringly. "It just means you care. I wish I could help more, but honestly, it’s hard for me to make any judgments since I don’t really know her that well. But if you give her a bit of time and space, I’m sure she’ll land on her feet. She just might be feeling a bit of pressure since she wants to make you proud. I can relate to that, too,” he admits.  </p><p>Sabine pats him on the arm as she starts for the kitchen. “That’s very kind of you to say. Now, shall we move on to dessert?” </p><p>Adrien nods, rising to clear the table. All this talk about Marinette still confuses him, though. The impression he gets of her from others is so incongruous with what he has seen for himself, it’s as if he is working on a jigsaw puzzle in the dark; without the guidance of a bigger picture, it all just feels like a jumble of contradictions and mystery.</p><p>Still, his intuition tells him that it’s worth the effort to figure out how the pieces fit together. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>It is the 23rd of April. Marinette sits on a bench in the passengers waiting area at Gare de l'Est, her red hood pulled tightly over her head as she glares at the carefully reassembled remnants of discarded ID photos pasted into an old scrapbook. She flips from one page to the next, unsure of whether she should be frightened or weirded out by the motley gallery the album's owner has created. </p><p>On a normal day, she would actually think the collection strangely charming. (That is, in fact, exactly how she had felt when she had happened upon the scrapbook a few days ago.) Today, however, it’s just making her bad mood even worse. She's most put off by the frequent appearance of a bald man in a collared shirt; his stare is impassive, but to Marinette, he's just another person judging her life choices.</p><p>Chat Noir's voice cuts in. "You know, if you keep turning the pages like that, you're gonna ruin that photo album before we have a chance to return it to the guy who lost it," he points out.</p><p>Marinette keeps her gaze focused on the judgy bald man. The photo is torn such that his left eye is separated from the rest of his face...which only seems to enhance the disdain in his expression. <em>Is he mocking me?</em> </p><p>"This guy," she mutters quietly. "I've seen him at least four times already. I wonder why there are so many pictures of him."</p><p>Chat Noir leans in front of her to examine the picture more closely. He points to a comment in the margin. “Looks like The Collector is wondering the same thing,” he observes.</p><p>She doesn’t answer, too distracted by his sudden closeness to speak. In fact, all she can really register is how good he smells, and how soft his hair looks this close up. If she weren’t frozen in place, she would be tempted to snake her hand up from where it's wedged between them and run her fingers through his shiny blond locks. </p><p>Caught as Marinette is under Chat's (unintentional) spell, it’s still not quite enough to knock her out of the funk she’s in. The second he pulls away, her mood is back in full force.</p><p>“Wait. Did you just call the album’s owner <em>The Collector</em>?" </p><p>He grins, clearly ignoring the accusatory tone of her voice. “Well, yeah. Because he collects these pictures, you know?”</p><p>“I don’t think it’s necessary for us to do that,” she snaps. “The album is...harmless. We don’t need to give him mean nicknames because of what he decides to do as a hobby.”</p><p>Chat holds his hands up. “I don’t mean it as an insult. I actually think the album is really cool. I mean, it’s a bit odd in a fascinating kind of way. But then again, what we’re doing is a little odd too, if you think about it.”</p><p>“What, so now what we’re doing is weird?” she demands, eyes blazing. “You know, if you don’t want to help me, all you have to do is tell me. I can do this on my own. I don’t need someone else questioning the decisions I make.”</p><p>Chat tilts his head in apparent confusion at her outburst. "Um...we're not actually talking about The Collector anymore, are we?" </p><p>The question interrupts her tirade. <em>Shit. He’s right.</em></p><p>The fight in her flickers out as quickly as it had flared up. She knows it's unfair to behave this way around Chat, especially since she'd been the one to text him with the invite to help her with this little stakeout. </p><p>Marinette slumps her shoulders. "I’m sorry, Chat. I shouldn’t be taking my frustrations out on you. I've just had some stuff on my mind."</p><p>He takes the album from her and places it on the bench beside him. "You want to talk about it?"</p><p>Marinette considers this. On the one hand, it means spilling her guts to a total stranger. Okay, fine - not a stranger. An acquaintance? No, a friend...but a friend whose real name she doesn't even know. On the other hand, Chat has proven himself to be a kind, reliable sort of person who doesn’t freak out when she loses her cool - as evidenced by how he’s behaving right at this very moment. Plus, him not knowing her identity allows her to be a bit more honest about how she’s feeling.</p><p>And really, if she doesn't vent to someone soon, she's probably going to explode.</p><p>"You're going to think I'm petty and ungrateful for complaining,” she warns. “That's how I feel, even though I'm mad...which only makes me more mad…"</p><p>"No, I won't,” Chat promises. “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. But it sounds like you could use someone to talk to. Besides, we’re a team, right?”</p><p>“Right,” she agrees quietly.</p><p>He shrugs. “Well, teammates help each other. So whatever's bugging you, get it off your chest. I won't judge, I swear."</p><p>Reassured, Marinette takes a deep breath. "It's my parents," she begins. </p><p>He chuckles sympathetically. "Oh, I can definitely relate. My dad is kind of the worst."</p><p>"That's the thing," she says, shaking her head. “My parents are amazing. I absolutely adore them.”</p><p>“But…?” Chat prompts.</p><p>(That one word is all the encouragement Marinette needs to allow her frustration to pour out in the form of a long, rambling rant.)</p><p>“Well, without getting too into the details, I’ve been working with the family business since I graduated from university. It’s not something I’d planned to do, but the timing was such that things were taking off and they were totally swamped, so I made the choice to hold off on applying to jobs so that I could help them out. And I’ve always been okay with that.</p><p>“But lately...I dunno, maybe it’s because we’ve got this new...client...who just happens to work in my field, but lately they’ve been talking about him nonstop, like he’s the son they never had, and granted, yes, he seems like a good guy, but I digress…anyway, then they turn to <em>me </em>and start asking <em>me </em>questions about what my plans are for the future for after I quit the ba- I mean, after I quit working for them. And I know they mean well, but when they say it, it sounds like they’re worried I'm going to be left in the dust because I'm too scared to even apply. </p><p>“So on the one hand, I’m grateful for having these amazing parents who love me and support my dreams, but on the other hand, I’m super mad and frustrated, because suddenly I’m feeling guilty about this choice I’ve made to put off starting my career for <em>them</em>. Because I know I should do my own thing, right? But then I see them, and they’re still working so <em>hard</em>, and I wish they could take a break, you know? And I thought that if I was still helping them out, they would take a hint and slow down. But they haven't, which isn't good for them...and I haven't moved on, which I guess isn't really good for me, either, and I just...I don't know how to break the cycle."</p><p>She punctuates her speech with a sigh, nervously peering at Chat as he silently processes her words. </p><p>"Let me get this straight," he says slowly, "you're telling me that your parents love you so much that they want you to quit and find a job in your field - a job that you would, presumably, enjoy a lot more than working for them...but you love <em>them </em>so much that you don't <em>want </em>to quit, because they work too hard?"</p><p>There's a tone of disbelief in Chat's voice that makes Marinette laugh in spite of the situation. "It sounds kind of stupid when you put it in those terms, doesn't it?"</p><p>He shakes his head, but there’s a glint in his eye. "No, it's not stupid. But it is totally what I would expect. Hashtag Ladybug problems. <em>I'm upset because my parents work too hard and won't let me help them</em>."</p><p>She smacks him on the chest. "Okay, asshole."</p><p>"Language, Milady!" Chat scolds, with a laugh that belies the scandalized look on his face. "Seriously, though. I understand what it means to not see eye to eye with your folks on stuff like that...though I suspect your mom and dad are a lot more understanding than mine would be." He pauses. “Anyway, if it makes you feel any better, you're not alone. I know this girl who has a similar issue with her parents. Her mom was even trying to get my advice on how to help, if you can believe it. Maybe your parents feel the same way? They're not necessarily trying to call you out as being too scared or lazy. It could be they just want to make sure you aren't putting their dreams ahead of your own, even if it doesn't come across that way when they try to talk to you about it."</p><p>Marinette pushes away the tiny pang of jealousy that flares at the mention of this other girl Chat Noir knows, trying to focus instead on the substance of what he's told her. After a moment's reflection, she nods. "Yeah, you're probably right. I guess it just stings when they bring it up because, well...I honestly <em>am</em> a little afraid of what happens when I finally put myself out there."</p><p>"Ladybug, scared? Not possible."</p><p>"Oh, it's definitely possible."</p><p>“Well, I guess I should take comfort in the fact that you’re human like the rest of us. I was starting to think you don’t have an alter ego, and that you’re actually a superhero all the time,” he adds with a wink. </p><p>Marinette tries to scowl, but can’t help but smile at his praise. “Very funny, Chat.”</p><p>“I mean, I’m not actually joking,” he says, his tone a bit more serious. “You’re basically the most selfless person I’ve ever met. But that doesn’t mean it always has to be like that, you know? It’s okay to think about yourself sometimes. And it’s okay for it to scare you a little. Change is hard.” </p><p>She presses her shoulder to his. “Thanks, Kitty. I feel a lot better.” </p><p>He responds by wrapping his arm around her for a little side hug. Despite a split second of surprise, she allows herself to enjoy the friendly embrace.</p><p>“You’ll be okay, Bugaboo. But anytime you need someone to talk to, I’m here. Seriously. Anytime.”</p><p>The two stay like this for a few moments, allowing the din of the station to fill the silence that stretches between them. Marinette lets out a breath, the tension in her shoulders unraveling for the first time in days. She marvels at how her friend - because there’s no point in denying it, they <em>are </em>friends - has managed to turn her mood around so quickly. </p><p>However, Marinette is unable to ruminate on this feeling for long, because when she looks up, she spots someone emerge from  the photo booth across from their stakeout spot. </p><p>It’s someone she’s seen before...in The Collector’s album.</p><p>“Chat Noir!” she hisses quietly. “I know who the bald guy is!” </p><p>He looks around excitedly. “What? Who? Where?”</p><p>“Over there,” she replies, pointing at the tall figure in red coveralls stalking across their field of vision toward the main doors. “And I think I know how we can return the album <em>and </em>help The Collector solve the mystery, as well.”</p><p>Chat grins widely as he catches her drift. “There’s the Ladybug I know. Let’s go.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>It is the 28th of April. This time, it’s Adrien who’s in a funk.</p><p>Well, not actually a funk. It’s just that things have been really slow at <em>La Petite Mort</em> this evening, and he’s wishing that he could be out with Ladybug instead.</p><p>An incoming text reminds him of what he could be doing instead of tagging price markdowns on butt plugs.</p><p>
  <em>(23:36)Forgot to text you earlier, but mission accomplished. Album delivered! Bald guy and The Collector, together at last! Best team ever.</em>
</p><p>Adrien chuckles at the next message - a surreptitiously taken photo of The Collector hugging his scrapbook to his chest, a silly grin plastered on his face as he watches the bald man walk away. He taps out a reply, adding in a fist bump emoji for good measure.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>(23:37) I hope by best team, you’re referring to us. </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>(23:37) Of course. Sorry things didn’t work out tonight, though.</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>(23:38) It’s okay. These things happen. I’m glad you were still able to carry out the mission without me. You’re the brains of the operation, anyway.</strong>
</p><p><em>(23:38)</em>  <em>Pfft, you know you’re irreplaceable, right?</em></p><p> </p><p>Adrien’s stomach does a little flip at this. He stares at the message for a bit longer than necessary before he finally replies.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>(23:40) Thanks, Bug. I needed that. </strong>
</p><p><em>(23:41)</em>  <em>Sure thing, Kitty. </em></p><p><em>(23:43)</em>  <em>Btw, I was also working on a solution to the thing with my parents I told you about before.</em></p><p> </p><p>Intrigued by the potential for a new mission, Adrien looks around at the shop to confirm that it is, indeed, totally empty. Plagg’s in his office - asleep, most likely - and the dwindling stack of untagged sex toys means that he’ll be left with nothing to do for the last hour of his shift. His mind made up, he decides to call her instead. </p><p>Ladybug picks up on the second ring. “Hello?”</p><p>“Hey. Sorry, I’m not a big texter. And I could use the company. Is it okay if we talk instead?”</p><p>“Yeah, it’s fine. I was just getting ready for bed, anyway. You’re sure you’re okay to talk, though? When you said you were going to be busy tonight, I thought...”</p><p><em>Thought I would be doing what?</em> Adrien wonders. “It's fine,” he assures her as he continues about his task. “This is a nice distraction, actually. Things are really slow at work, and I'm bored.”</p><p>“Oh. You're at work right now?”</p><p>“Yup. Someone called in sick, so I get to hang out with my boss all evening.”</p><p>Ladybug seems confused by his reply. “But it’s almost midnight. What do you do?”</p><p>Adrien freezes, price tag gun in hand. That’s definitely not something he wants to reveal just yet. Or maybe ever. “Hey, I thought we agreed not to share anything too personal, remember?”</p><p>“Oh, right. Sorry.”</p><p>He winces at the embarrassed tone of her voice. “I’m kidding, Bugaboo. Anyway, work is just boring...retail stuff,” he says. He switches his phone from one ear to the other, wedging it against his shoulder as he tags a package of anal beads with a 30% off label. “Trust me, I’m not saving the world like you.”</p><p>“Har har.” He can practically hear her roll her eyes as she replies. “I still work for my parents, remember?”</p><p>Adrien smirks. “As a matter of fact, I do, too. I’m moonlighting at this job, but my dad keeps pushing me to do more with the family business.” Quickly, he changes gears. “Anyway, that’s not why I called. I called because I want to know what to expect for our next mission.”</p><p>Ladybug sighs. “It’s not really a mission thing, to be honest. I mean, if you help me, you’ll know who they are...and then you’ll know who I am…”</p><p>“Oh, right,” he says, deflated. “I hadn’t thought of that. I guess-”</p><p>“I could use some help brainstorming how to do this on my own, though? If you’re okay with helping me as a civilian, that is.”</p><p>Adrien’s disappointment quickly evaporates. “Of course I want to help,” he says. “Tell me what you’ve got so far.”</p><p>The pair proceed to discuss Ladybug’s plans to get her parents to take a break. Adrien jokes about having a roaming gnome send photos from around the world as a hint that they should take a vacation, and Ladybug laughs at his blatant effort to recycle their plans from a previous mission. (<em>Besides,</em> she reasons, <em>they don’t have a gnome to steal.</em>) After a few more false starts, they land on a more realistic solution: to advertise for someone to apprentice with her dad.</p><p>“I really should have thought of this sooner,” Ladybug says. “They used to talk about hiring an assistant, but they never followed through. They’ve just been so busy! But if I were to find candidates for them...that person could gradually take on more responsibility and finally give my mom and dad a break.”</p><p>“It’s a great idea,” Adrien agrees. “Are you worried about where that leaves you, though?”</p><p>Ladybug hums in thought. “I mean, I was. But then I realized it’s probably for the best in the long term. Who knows? Maybe they could even take over the business eventually. In the meantime, I’ve got another job to help pay the bills while I work on my applications.”</p><p>“Wow, you’ve got it all figured out,” he tells her, unable to hide the admiration in his voice.</p><p>“I wouldn’t have, if you hadn’t talked me down,” Ladybug points out. “I think I just needed to hear someone tell me it would be okay. So...thanks again.”</p><p>The compliment warms Adrien to the tips of his toes. He knows he hasn’t done much, but to have made a difference in the life of a friend is...well, everything.</p><p>“Of course,” he murmurs. “I told you. I’m here, any time. But for now...you should get to bed. My shift will be ending soon, anyway. Talk to you later?”</p><p>“For sure. Good night, Chat Noir.”</p><p>“Good night, Ladybug.”</p><p>Adrien ends the call, a soft smile on his face. While no substitute for an actual mission, he’s really enjoyed this chance to get to know Ladybug a little better. It’s only been a few weeks, but she’s quickly becoming one of his favorite people in the world. He might not know her name, but he feels like he can tell her anything...except, perhaps, for the part about his job at the shop.</p><p>(Later, Adrien will wonder if this was the moment when his feelings began to drift beyond the realm of friendship and into something deeper. This is, of course, a ridiculous notion; he was a goner for her from the start.) </p><p>One thing is for certain: Adrien’s friendship with Ladybug has awakened something within him. Change is coming, he can feel it. And though he cannot yet grasp at the possibilities, he suspects that they are within closer reach than ever before.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>If you've seen the movie, you know who The Collector is ;)</p><p>Feedback always appreciated. Thanks for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. May 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I really love these two idiots.</p><p>The first section of this chapter takes place at LPM. As usual, any reference to sex toys is literal shop talk,  but giving a heads up just in case.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Late night shifts at <em>La Petite Mort </em>are not typically Adrien’s favorite thing. Years of early morning call times for runway shows and photo shoots have conditioned him to be an early riser - a habit that invariably wreaks havoc on his sleeping schedule whenever Plagg asks him to help him with closing. The real problem, however, is that the night shift is, well...boring. Contrary to his expectations, the stream of customers decreases to a trickle in the late evening hours, leaving him to attend to the thankless task of conducting store inventory. As a result, Adrien often finds himself struggling to maintain consciousness, with nothing but his cheese-obsessed boss and a room full of erotica to keep him from falling asleep at the store counter.</p><p>Tonight, however, staying awake in the shop is not a problem Adrien has. In fact, despite the fact that it’s nearly half past midnight (and well past his bedtime), he’d be perfectly content to stay where he is until sunrise. </p><p>This is largely due to the fact that he is currently on the phone with Ladybug. Again.</p><p>Despite Ladybug’s insistence that they only communicate by phone about “mission related activities,” this is not how things have worked out since their first call a few days ago. (Indeed, to date there have been a total of seven phone calls and 143 text messages exchanged between them since the 28th of April.) And although such calls and texts are often initiated on the premise of discussing various plans, invariably the two have ended up veering from tangent to tangent, talking about everything and nothing.</p><p>(And flirting. Adrien has been doing quite a lot more of that, too.)</p><p>“You are going to be a total zombie in the morning,” Ladybug warns. “And you’re going to take me down with you if I don’t get off the phone soon!”</p><p>Adrien laughs. “Oh, come on, Bug. I’ve been here since 6pm, and I’ve seen five customers all night. It's literally just me and my boss here, and he's probably asleep in his office. You sure you don’t want to help me keep the boredom at bay for the home stretch?”</p><p>“I have work in the morning,” she whines.</p><p>“So do I,” he retorts. <em>Thank goodness for concealer</em>, he adds silently. He’s been using a lot more of it lately, what with the addition of secret missions to his schedule.</p><p>Ladybug is aghast. “What? Do you ever sleep?”</p><p>“I’m <em>talon </em>you, I’m a night owl,” he quips, laughing at the groan he hears on the other end of the line. He may be stretching the truth, but the pun is totally worth it. </p><p>“I’m going to ignore that awful excuse for a joke, and focus on your unhealthy sleeping habits. Were you this bad as a kid, too? How did you ever make it on time for school?”</p><p>“That was actually quite easy,” he replies. “I was homeschooled my whole life. All my teachers came to me.” </p><p>“Really?”</p><p>“Yeah. I was a very sheltered child.” Adrien says so in as playful a tone as he can manage. <em>Sheltered is one way of putting it. Imprisoned is another.</em></p><p>“Well, if it makes you feel any better,” she says consolingly, “school kinda sucked.”</p><p>He chuckles at her candor. “It doesn't, actually, but thanks. I think I'd rather I had gone and suffered with other kids than by myself.” </p><p>“I feel like you would have done just fine,” she replies matter-of-factly. “No suffering at all.”</p><p>“What makes you say that?”</p><p>Ladybug is silent, as though she is trying to choose her words as carefully as possible. “You're just so...obnoxiously confident.” </p><p>Another laugh bubbles out. “Well, that's new,” he says. </p><p>“What? It’s true!”</p><p>“If you say so.” As he speaks, his traitorous brain brings up an image of his father. If only Ladybug knew about Gabriel Agreste and his magical ability to make Adrien second guess everything he does. </p><p>He pushes the thought away and changes the subject, not wanting his dad to ruin his mood from the other end of the city. “Just so you know, I have a hard time believing you had difficulty in school. You seem like the type that would have had plenty of friends.”</p><p>“Not really. Kids were nice enough, for the most part - but I didn’t have a lot of friends. Not many people really <em>got </em>me, you know?”</p><p>Her answer surprises him. Adrien has difficulty reconciling this image of schoolgirl-Ladybug with the confident woman he’s gotten to know over the past few weeks. </p><p>“But you're so nice. And thoughtful. And put together.”</p><p>“Hardly,” she scoffs. “I'm a total disaster in real life.”</p><p>“That makes two of us.”</p><p>“No, really, I’m serious,” Ladybug replies. “For example, there’s this guy, right? I had, like, the biggest crush on him when I was in school. I had mapped out a life with him and everything. Three kids and a hamster. The works.”</p><p>“Hamster. Excellent choice.”</p><p>“Don’t mock me.”</p><p>“I’m not!” </p><p>(Believe it or not, Adrien is telling the truth. What he is laughing at is the fact that he had always wanted a hamster as a child, too.) </p><p>“Anyway. Like I said, I was stupidly in love with this totally unattainable boy, and guess what? I find out that he’s moved in just around the corner from where I work. And now I see him every. single. day. You would think that being an adult who has actually dated, I would be able to string together three words to say hello to the guy, right? Because even though he’s still incredibly attractive, I’m not actually in love with him anymore. So it would be reasonable to presume that I’m mature enough to approach him as if he were just another human being, right? Well, you would be wrong. I can’t. In fact, I can barely be in the same room as him without something horribly embarrassing happening. Because like I said, I’m a total disaster. So trust me, you’re seeing the best side of me here as Ladybug. Regular me is a hot mess.”</p><p>Part of Adrien thinks that Ladybug’s story is, if not a little akin to one of Chloe’s hyperbolic rants, actually very funny. Another part of him is bristling at the thought of this former crush of Ladybug’s who has made a sudden reappearance in her life. <em>Does that idiot not realize how amazing she is? </em></p><p>(<em>That idiot</em> does, indeed.)</p><p>"Well, he must be pretty stupid for not noticing you," Adrien mutters.</p><p>"That's not really my point. He's not the problem, I am. I just...have a harder time connecting with people than you think."</p><p>"Well, you connected with me, right? Platonically, I mean," he qualifies hastily.</p><p>"Yeah, but that has more to do with you being you than anything else."</p><p>"Aw, you're finally acknowledging my <em>paw</em>-some <em>purr</em>-sonality!"</p><p>Ladybug laughs. "Oh my God, again with the puns! For a second there I thought you were actually normal."</p><p>"We go around Paris in masks doing nice things for strangers. There's no normal for either of us, Milady."</p><p>"Yeah, but at least I don't have cat ears to match."</p><p>"Is this your way of saying you want antennae? Besides, I told you, I have them for my job."</p><p>"The one you're at right now?"</p><p>"Different job."</p><p>"Just how many jobs do you have?"</p><p>"A few. Gotta hustle," he adds, garnering another laugh. "I really should get a new pair, though. My boss is starting to wonder why they’re getting so tattered."</p><p>"You could just...not wear them when we're out," she says pointedly.</p><p>He lets out a gasp of horror. "And compromise my secret identity? For shame, Bugaboo. That's like telling Clark Kent to get contact lenses. The ears are essential."</p><p>Adrien decides that he really likes this banter with Ladybug. She's sharp, witty, and hilarious. In fact, he loves pretty much everything about this whole conversation right now. </p><p>(Which, of course, presents the perfect opportunity for Plagg to show up and ruin everything.)</p><p>“Hey, Nino!"</p><p>Adrien pauses, wondering what his boss could possibly need with him so close to the end of his shift.</p><p>"Nino!" Plagg calls out again - much louder this time. "Before you clock out, can you check the lube aisle to see how many bottles we need to order of the Intimate Earth Defense Glide? I think we’re low on our stock of vaginal moisturizer, too.”</p><p>His blood runs cold. <em>Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!</em></p><p>“HeyLadybugIneedtotakecareofsomethingpleaseholdokaythanks!” he whisper-screams into his phone.</p><p>Adrien doesn’t wait for her reply. He just fumbles for the mute button as Plagg blithely strolls in from the back room, an inventory sheet and pen in hand, reading out the names of the various brands his little shop carries.</p><p>It only takes a minute for Adrien to assist his boss with his inquiry, but every second that goes by feels like a month. All the while, he’s silently panicking. <em>There’s absolutely no way Ladybug didn’t hear all of that; Plagg’s voice could carry clear across the Seine from here if he wanted it to.</em> </p><p>By the time Plagg has wandered back to his office, Adrien is feeling so mortified that he’s not sure if he’d rather explain everything or hang up and ghost her completely. Breathing deeply, he unmutes the call. </p><p>“Hello?” </p><p>The silence that greets him is absolutely excruciating.</p><p>“So…” Ladybug says after what feels like an eternity. “You guys carry Intimate Earth Defense Glide?” </p><p>Her voice is quiet and even. It totally freaks him out.</p><p>“It’s, it's, ah, popular enough. M-made with all organic ingredients. But, um, Sliquid is the real bestseller. ” He smacks himself as the words spill out. <em>What the fuck am I doing? Am I really giving Ladybug a sales pitch about personal lubricant?</em></p><p>“I see. Well, then, here’s another question…”</p><p><em>Here it comes</em>, he thinks with a gulp.</p><p>“...Do you have a friends and family discount?” </p><p>Adrien barks out a laugh in disbelief. “Seriously? That’s what you have to say?”</p><p>“I mean, it <em>is</em> a serious question,” she replies archly. “I’m living on a budget. Can’t spend it all on organic lube.”</p><p>“You’re shitting me.”</p><p>“What do you want me to say, that I think you’re a creep for working at a sex shop? I don’t care about that.”</p><p>“Really?” Adrien is genuinely surprised with how calmly she is taking this revelation. </p><p>(In his defense, he really has no frame of reference; Ladybug is the first person in his life to become acquainted with his...extracurricular activities. For the moment, we shall overlook the fact that she doesn’t know about his primary line of work, either.)</p><p>Ladybug remains perfectly unruffled. “I’m not in a position to judge you. I don’t think anyone is, honestly. Besides, a wise man once told me: <em>there is dignity in all work, and an opportunity to learn. Each experience you have helps to build the life you wish to create, even if it doesn’t feel like it in the moment. The key is in recognizing the right time to take your next step.</em>” </p><p>“That sounds...incredibly zen,” he jokes, finally back at ease.</p><p>“The point is, work is work. You and I both have multiple jobs, right? We all have to make a living somehow,” she points out.</p><p>“True. And I have to admit, I kinda like working here, if only because it means I have my own way of making money independent of my dad. Plus, this is the last place he’d think of. It’s weirdly freeing, doing something people don't expect from me.</p><p>Ladybug chuckles quietly. “I know what you mean. It's kind of like how I feel when I wear my mask. I feel...braver. I can do things, say things that regular me wouldn’t.”</p><p>Adrien pauses to consider her words. They <em>have</em> been remarkably candid with one another, perhaps more so than he has been with anyone he’s ever known. Chloe knows a lot, but even with her, he knows there are things he really can’t say. He wonders if he would be this open with Ladybug if he didn’t have a mask to hide behind.</p><p>“You know what? Me, too,” he agrees.</p><p>Ladybug yawns on the other end of the line. “Okay, Kitty. You’ve got some stuff to take care of before you go, and I’m about to pass out, so I’m gonna go.”</p><p>“Yeah, you’re right. Thanks for the talk.”</p><p>“Hey, just returning the favor,” she says sleepily. “You said you’re here if I need to talk, right? Well, same goes for me. Anytime.”</p><p>“Good night, Milady. Sweet dreams.”</p><p>“Good night, <em>Chaton</em>.”</p><p>Adrien ends the call. A small sigh escapes him as he leans against the counter, thinking over their conversation.</p><p>“You know, I don’t pay you to flirt with your girlfriend at work.” Adrien looks up to see Plagg smirking at him from the entrance to his office. </p><p>“She’s just a friend,” he insists.</p><p>“Yeah, okay," Plagg replies with a snicker. "Either way, though, you know she’s a keeper if she doesn’t mind you putting her on hold to do lube inventory.”</p><p>Adrien's eyes widen...then narrow into slits. </p><p>“You. Mother. Fucker.” </p><p>(Normally, Adrien would never use such language in front of his <em>employer</em>, of all people. But Plagg’s blatant interference, in this instance, certainly merits an exception.)</p><p>His boss just laughs. “I’m doing you a favor, Nino. You really want to be with someone who you’ve gotta hide basic stuff from? Stuff, like, where you work?”</p><p>Aside from his insistence on referring to Ladybug as his girlfriend, Adrien concedes that Plagg may have a point. Too bad the guy doesn’t realize that neither he nor Ladybug even knows his real name.</p><p>“Anyway. I honestly don’t mind what you do when it’s slow around here, kid. If there aren’t any customers, talk all you like. At least you have the good sense to keep it in your pants,” he adds. “But next time? If you want to keep me distracted, it wouldn’t hurt if you brought in some of that fancy raw milk camembert. Now go home.”</p><p>Adrien watches as Plagg turns around without another word and winds his way back to his office. Sighing, he scrubs his face with his hands as a thousand thoughts rush through his brain.</p><p>The first thing that comes to mind: <em>I definitely need to stop by the cheese shop tomorrow.</em> </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Thirteen hours later, Marinette is smiling at nothing in particular as she wipes down a table by the front window of <em>Le 21e</em>. She is so lost in thought that she doesn’t hear the tell-tale tapping of Tikki’s cane as the woman hobbles toward her. Nor does Marinette hear her boss when she asks how she is doing.</p><p>“Cat got your tongue?”</p><p>“What? No! What did you say?” Marinette splutters, blushing as she shakes out of her daydream. “Sorry. I just spaced out for a moment. I slept a little later than normal.”</p><p>“It’s fine,” Tikki says, but there is something in the way her employer’s eyes sparkle as she speaks that makes Marinette’s blush deepen. It’s like Tikki knows she’d been distracted by thoughts of something else - or more accurately, some<em>one</em> else.</p><p>She is saved from having to explain anything by the arrival of Mylène, who appears to be struggling to wrestle a small rolling suitcase through the doorway. Ivan makes to help her, but Marinette cuts him off at the bar. </p><p>“I’ve got it!” she trills, rushing over to Mylène’s side. She opens the door a bit wider to accommodate the extra luggage. “Let me help you with that.”</p><p>“Thanks so much!” Mylène chirps, her cheeks pink from the exertion. “Sorry I wasn’t able to come by yesterday, but at least I was able to stop in before I leave for the airport! Did you have that package for me?”</p><p>“Don’t worry about it! And yeah, I've got it. I’ll be right back,” Marinette replies, before running to the kitchen. She returns a few moments later with an oddly shaped parcel wrapped in cloth (one end of which looks suspiciously like the pointy end of a gnome’s hat).</p><p>“Is this going to be a problem with your baggage?” she asks as she hands the item over. “I hope it’s not too big.” </p><p>Mylène waves her concern away. “I didn't have any issues with my last trip, so I'm sure it will be fine. Has your grandfather mentioned anything?”</p><p>“Not yet, but I'm sure I'll hear something soon.”</p><p>“Definitely keep me posted. I'm sure it will be quite a surprise.”</p><p>“What kind of surprise?” Alya cuts in, curious.</p><p>Marinette reddens. “Oh, I just had this idea...I thought it might be fun for my grandfather to get some mail from an old friend.” Mylène giggles at the reference.</p><p>Alya peers at her with a furrowed brow. “Hm. Interesting. You know, this sounds almost like something our friendly neighborhood vigilante would do.”</p><p>“Well, yes,” Marinette replies, reddening. “I, um, I’ve been following your blog and I guess I kind of got inspired.” Silently, she prays that her friend buys the same excuse she gave Mylène.</p><p>Thankfully, Alya is none the wiser, distracted instead by Marinette’s mention of her blog. “Speaking of which...you know how I've had this theory that our undercover do-gooder isn't operating alone? Well, someone commented on one of my posts, saying they spotted a couple leaving donation boxes on the doorstep of the women’s shelter the other day.”</p><p>“Oh?” Mylène asks. Marinette stays silent, hoping she doesn’t look as worried as she feels.</p><p>“Yeah. And normally I wouldn't think much of something like that, but apparently, they were wearing masks!” she says gleefully. “They <em>have</em> to be the ones going around doing all these good deeds.”</p><p>Marinette pales. <em>I knew we should have made that delivery after dark. Too many people who could recognize us.</em></p><p>“But what did they look like?” Mylène presses. “Did anyone take a picture?”</p><p>Alya shakes her head. “Sadly, no. They didn’t get a good look at the girl aside from the fact that she had a red and black hoodie - like a ladybug. But they said the guy was tall and blond, with a black mask and cat ears.”</p><p>Mylène giggles at the mention of the cat ears. “Oh my goodness, that’s so cute! A ladybug and a black cat! Do you think they’re a couple in real life, too? Oh, I wish we knew who they were!”</p><p>“I’d ship it,” Alya says with a laugh. She turns to Marinette. “You okay, girl?”</p><p>Marinette tries to laugh, but it comes out strained. “I’m just...so confused. A couple? Why would you think these people are dating?”</p><p>“I dunno. I’m just speculating, really. But it would be cute if that were the case, wouldn’t it?” </p><p>Marinette bites her lip, not trusting herself to say anything in reply.</p><p>“Anyway,” Alya continues. “I’m sure we can all agree that whatever their couple status may or may not be, the bigger question is, who are they?” Her eyes gleam as she lowers her voice conspiratorially. “If I were to bet, as of now I’d put my money on the guy being Adrien Agreste.”</p><p><em>Adrien and Chat Noir, the same person? Impossible. </em>Marinette snorts in amusement, garnering a look from her friend. </p><p>“And what was that for?” Alya asks, her free hand on one hip.</p><p>“Nothing,” Marinette blurts out. “Just...it doesn’t sound like something a supermodel would do.” <em>Neither does working at a sex shop</em>, she adds silently.</p><p>“I mean, sure. But he does live around here, and I hear he's a really nice guy. Plus, he's been super chummy with the locals lately. You would know better than any of us - he’s at the bakery practically every day.” </p><p>“I-” Marinette begins, but she’s unable to form an intelligible response. </p><p>The truth is, Alya’s got a point. Adrien has become much more of a presence in the neighborhood over the past couple months (in fact, he seems to have popped up everywhere except the café - whether this relieves or disappoints her, she's still not sure). And he is, by all accounts, a kind and generous person. It actually pisses her off a little, if only because it would be so much easier to dispense with her old teenage crush were he just some spoiled rich kid with no real responsibilities. Maybe that way, she would be able to ignore him.</p><p>Unfortunately for Marinette, it’s literally impossible <em>not </em>to notice Adrien. After all these years, he’s as beautiful as ever - but on top of that, he never once fails to say hello, even if she can barely muster more than a few words in reply. What’s more, it seems that everyone else has started to notice him, too...not for his fame or good looks, but for the shy sweetness he exhibits every time he visits the bakery. He’s quickly wormed his way into the hearts of everybody he knows, and the worst part is, he actually seems sincere.</p><p>Still, none of this means that Adrien Agreste is Chat Noir. Sure, they share some superficial physical similarities. And they both have a sweet, self-effacing kind of charm about them. Regardless, the two are completely different people in her mind. One of them is, quite simply,  unattainably perfect. The other is just...Chat. Chat Noir, who has three jobs - that she knows of - and likes working at a sex shop better than working for his own father. Who has a bright orange scooter named after a manga character. Who’s always early, but apparently never has time to comb his hair. Who has both the best and worst sense of humor of anyone she knows. Who is cocky and fun-loving, even if his life is, from what she can tell, just as messy as hers.  </p><p>None of these descriptors could possibly apply to Adrien Agreste, the golden boy of Paris. And besides, she’d heard what his boss called Chat the night he had interrupted their phone call. <em>Nino. Chat’s real name is Nino.</em> </p><p>Of course, Marinette can’t possibly tell Alya any of these things without revealing her own secret identity. So she doesn’t.</p><p>“I just don’t see it,” she says, earning her a curious look from her friend. Marinette leans from one side to the other, suddenly feeling a little nervous.</p><p>(In truth, she has every reason to be so. Alya considers Marinette to be one of her closest friends, and she has a hunch that something’s going on. Although she knows the girl has a tendency to retreat into her own world from time to time, it’s never been for a stretch quite this long. Indeed, if not for the fact that Marinette is entirely too clumsy and conspicuous to pull off a double life as a vigilante do-gooder, she would be right up there with Adrien Agreste at the top of Alya’s list. </p><p>However, the moment of suspicion passes as quickly as it comes on. <em>It’s probably nothing</em>, she reasons. After all, Marinette isn’t one to keep secrets. Or so she thinks.)</p><p>“You’re probably right,” Alya concedes at last. “The guy is probably too busy being a famous supermodel, jetting around everywhere and doing fashion shows and all that. But what a story it would be if it were real!”</p><p>“Speaking of jetting around, I should head out,” Mylène says. She hands Marinette a key. “Thanks again for agreeing to dog-sit while I’m gone. Text me if you need anything!”</p><p>With that, the trio’s impromptu gossip fest adjourns. Alya saunters off to take a customer’s order, while Mylène heads for the exit, parcel and suitcase in tow. </p><p>Marinette makes for the door to assist - but this time, Ivan is already waiting, holding it open for her. Marinette watches Mylène smile at the barman, thanking him for his assistance as she exits the café. Ivan doesn’t respond - at least, not with words. He merely nods, grunting in acknowledgment. But after she’s gone, he lingers by the door, yearning clearly painted on his face as he watches her climb into a taxi and speed away.</p><p>Tikki sidles up to Marinette, and together they take in the little scene unfolding before them. “After being in this business for more than fifty years,” Tikki observes, “I think I’ve figured out a basic recipe for love. I imagine it’s not unlike baking cookies. It takes patience, some trial and error to get the timing just right. But the key ingredient isn’t what makes the cookies sweet - it’s the one that binds everything together.”</p><p>Smiling serenely, Tikki heads back to the kitchen without another word. Marinette, however, doesn’t notice, her gaze alternating between her dejected looking co-worker and the key still in her hand.</p><p>Another plan forms. Jamming the key into her pocket, she reaches for her phone.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The buzz of an incoming text is the only thing that keeps Adrien from falling asleep in the plush armchair he’s been parked at for the past hour. Seriously, was his father always this boring when he was growing up?</p><p>Probably, but he didn’t know any better at the time. Now that he does, however, it only makes the lecturing so much worse.</p><p>Adrien sneaks a peek at his phone, stifling a grin when he realizes who it is that’s written him.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>(14:08) You busy later this afternoon? I finish work at 16h, but I have an idea for a new mission. Let me know if you can make it.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>It takes him all of three seconds to consider her invitation.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>(14:08) Absolutely. Just tell me where and what time.</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Satisfied, Adrien places his phone face down on the side table and redirects his focus back to his father. Unfortunately, the latter has noticed his son’s lack of attention.</p><p>“As I was saying,” Gabriel notes pointedly, “we need to discuss the itinerary for your shoot in Milan next week.”</p><p>Adrien’s brow furrows. “Milan? What? I didn’t agree to that.” </p><p>“I didn’t think I needed your permission to send you to Italy,” his father replies dismissively. “It’s hardly as if you have any commitments keeping you in Paris.”</p><p>“You have no idea what my commitments are,” he shoots back.</p><p>A look of surprise flashes briefly across Gabriel’s face, but is quickly replaced with his usual cold stare. “Would you care to enlighten me, then?” he asks sardonically.</p><p>A silent standoff follows. (Normally, this would be the point in the conversation where Adrien would sigh in resignation and agree to whatever his father has proposed. But this is the first occasion since his decision to scale back his modeling work that Gabriel has tried something like this. Both seem aware of the implications; if Adrien backs down now, it would be tantamount to capitulation.)</p><p>Gabriel seems to sense his hesitation. “Well?” </p><p>It’s just one word, but the message is clear: <em>you’ve had your fun, and now it’s time to get back to work</em>.</p><p>Not for the first time, Adrien yearns for someone to supply him with the right comeback. He wishes the words came to him as easily as they do when he’s with Ladybug.</p><p><em>Actually...what would I say if she asked me this question?</em> he wonders.</p><p>Adrien dons his Chat Noir mask - in his mind, at least.</p><p>“I’m flattered to find you’re taking an interest, Father, but what I do on my own time is my business,” he quips.</p><p>His father seems taken aback by the retort, but refuses to back down. “That may be, but it hardly reflects well on our family name to have you wasting about instead of doing something productive.”</p><p>Adrien smirks, channeling as much of the swagger of his alter ego as he can. “I hardly call modeling a <em>productive venture</em> in the grand scheme of things.”</p><p>He hears another buzz from his phone - likely another text from Ladybug, letting him know where to meet. The presence of his partner, however remote, is enough to make him straighten in his seat.</p><p>Gabriel narrows his eyes in the direction of Adrien’s phone. “And I suppose you're going to tell me that whoever sent you that message is the reason you are so busy.”</p><p>“No. That was my...doctor. Reminding me of my appointment this afternoon. I should go.”</p><p>“Doctor? I expect you to stay in peak physical condition, son. Perhaps it’s a sign you should limit your visits to that 'quaint neighborhood patisserie' run by those new friends you can't stop talking about. Their...confections...are clearly not worth the risk to your health.”</p><p>Adrien bristles at the dig - how <em>dare </em>his father insult Tom and Sabine, not to mention the magical passionfruit macarons he’d brought into the office for Nathalie? - but remains determined to maintain a veneer of nonchalance. </p><p>“I’m fine. It’s for something else.”</p><p>“Well, then you can cancel,” his father replies. “We aren’t quite done here.”</p><p>“No,” he says resolutely. “I’m going to be the responsible adult you keep telling me to be and stick with my commitments.” </p><p>There. Finally, an answer that shuts his father up. <em>Ladybug, give me strength.</em></p><p>Gabriel glowers at him, but Adrien refuses to wither under the scrutiny. He’s not sure if his father is shocked or impressed to see him standing up for himself like this. </p><p>(It must be noted that while to rational people, this back and forth about a “doctor’s appointment” is but a petty squabble, Gabriel Agreste is unaccustomed to brooking dissent from anyone on any issue, no matter how small. However, while his penchant for micromanaging may have garnered him fame and fortune in the fashion industry, it has also left him unprepared for the surprise of having his only son defy his expectations. </p><p>You would think that Adrien’s decision to move out would have signaled to Gabriel that he should expect a shift in their family dynamic, but old habits die hard. Very hard.)</p><p>Adrien braces himself for an escalation, but when he finally breaks the silence, Gabriel surprises him by standing down. </p><p>“Fine,” he says shortly. “But next time, make sure Nathalie is aware of your other engagements so that we can avoid scheduling conflicts in the future.”</p><p>Adrien keeps his jaw from dropping to the ground; instead, he stands and issues a mock salute. “Of course, Father. I’ll see you later.” He turns and walks out of the office with as much confidence as he can muster, keeping his poker face until he’s exited the building completely. </p><p>It's not until he’s rounded the corner that he allows himself to relax. The anxious tension leeches out of him in waves - only to be replaced by exhaustion and annoyance. Sure, he’s won this round, but until he’s able to get out of the business completely, this back and forth is never going to end. <em>It feels like I’m in the fucking Mafia</em>.</p><p>The sky begins to darken, reflecting his mood. Adrien checks his phone, noting with relief that he still has plenty of time to go home before he and Ladybug are slated to meet. He needs a nap, a change of clothes - and, judging by the clouds rolling in, an umbrella. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The time is 17:07. Marinette leans against the stone wall of Mylène's apartment building as she waits for Chat Noir to arrive. A clap of thunder rings out in the distance, causing her to groan. She doesn't have any rain gear, so she can only hope the rain holds out until they're done. The longer she has to wait, the less likely that seems.</p><p>She shakes her head at the irony. The one day she's on time, and he's not there. (That’s because he was napping, but given the cause of his exhaustion, we can allow his tardiness to slide just this once.)</p><p>Marinette tries to keep her head clear, reminding herself to be patient. It was a last minute invite, after all. And to be honest, she really doesn’t need Chat there; this is probably one of those missions where having two people actually makes them more conspicuous, not less. </p><p>Still, it would feel weird not to invite him at this point. Plus, she reasons, this is a perfect opportunity to give him something she’d been working on for him. </p><p><em>It's a friendly gift. Friendly</em>, she says on repeat as she spies Chat Noir crossing the street. </p><p>Unfortunately, the constant repetition does not keep the butterflies from fluttering in her stomach as she anticipates how he will react when she gives him her present.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>A light mist drapes over the city as Adrien hustles down the street, tilting his large black umbrella upwards on occasion to make sure he doesn’t miss the turn. The weather is less than ideal, but given the bad taste the meeting with his father had left in his mouth, a mission with Ladybug is a more than welcome change of pace.</p><p>As he walks, he can’t help but reflect on the idea that the only person who seems to understand what he's going through is someone whose real name he doesn't even know. It's a little like how things are with Plagg, (though to be fair, he doesn't know his name either), but even then, it feels more comfortable, more real. At the very least, it doesn't feel like he’s lying to her by omission, since they've made an unspoken agreement to respect each other's secrets.</p><p>Adrien is still musing on this when he approaches an apartment building listed under the address Ladybug gave him. He’s surprised to find her waiting for him at the entryway. </p><p>“I'm sorry, but are you a Ladybug impersonator or something? Because My Lady is never on time.”</p><p>“Har, har.” She nods at his umbrella. "Didn't take you to be the type who would be put off by bad weather, though. Kitty afraid of a little water?”</p><p>“I prefer to be prepared,” he says with a sniff.</p><p>“It’s barely drizzling,” she shoots back.</p><p>Adrien rolls his eyes, pulling the umbrella closed as they enter the vestibule. “I heard it’s going to get worse later.” </p><p>“Mmhmm. I know you just want to keep your hair perfect.”</p><p>Normally, a comment like this would make him laugh. Today, however, it simply serves as another reminder of the rut he’s stuck in.</p><p>“This kind of beauty takes work,” he says humorlessly, thoughts of his father’s insults snaking their way back into his consciousness. “Too much work, if you ask me.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>There’s an edge to Chat Noir’s voice that gives Marinette pause. “Are you okay? I feel like this is the closest I’ve ever seen to you being in a bad mood.”</p><p>Chat runs a hand through his hair with a sigh. “Sorry. I had a work meeting earlier, and it didn’t go all that well. I’m fine, though, promise.” </p><p>Marinette places a hand on his arm, concerned. “You sure I can’t help?”</p><p>“Well,” he replies, “if you haven’t found an apprentice for your folks yet, I’d love to put my name in for consideration. I can provide references, if you want.”</p><p>“Ah,” she says as realization dawns. “I take it that your work meeting involved your dad?”</p><p>“Got it in one,” he says, tapping his nose. “I think it’s time for me to move into a new field. My current work is just too much of a mess.”</p><p>“Well, food service isn’t exactly a glamorous industry, either,” she jokes. </p><p>It takes Marinette about a half second after the words come out for her to realize what she’s said. </p><p>“Food service, huh?”</p><p>“Yeah!” she says brightly, hoping her tone effectively masks her panic. (It does not.) “My parents, um, they’re part of a supply chain for local restaurants.” <em>There. That works. And it’s not a complete lie.</em> “Anyway, I would love to accept your application, but if I did, then I would know who you are. That would defeat the purpose of keeping our identities a secret from one another, right?”</p><p>“Oh, right. I forgot,” Chat Noir says, scratching the back of his neck as he gives her a sheepish smile.</p><p><em>Sheepish...but also, perhaps a touch disappointed? Or am I just imagining that part?</em> Marinette wonders guiltily. </p><p>(She is, unfortunately, not imagining that at all. But to his credit, Chat Noir also recognizes that her refusal is completely fair given the parameters of their partnership.)</p><p>“So, where to?” he asks, changing the subject.</p><p>Relieved, Marinette holds up a key. “We’re going up to apartment 2E.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“So, what are we doing here again? And, um...who lives here?” </p><p>Adrien looks around, taking in his surroundings. It’s a small but clean studio apartment, complete with a mezzanine level bedroom that looks out onto the living area. At the foot of the stairs there’s a dog bed, occupied by a puppy snoozing in blissful ignorance of the intruders milling about its home.</p><p>His gaze travels to Ladybug, who has made a beeline for the kitchen. He’s kind of confused as to why she invited him to help her today - and a little unsettled by the fact that she appears to be going through the occupant’s belongings.</p><p>“Her name is Mylène,” Ladybug says as she opens the apartment owner’s refrigerator. “She’s this really lovely girl who travels a lot for work. She’s the one I gave the gnome to, for Gran- I mean, for that older gentleman who is trying to figure out what to do with his retirement. Anyway, she’s super sweet, and there’s this other guy, Ivan, who really likes her but doesn’t know how to approach her, but they would be super cute together, so I-”</p><p>He shuts the fridge door and fixes her with a look. “So you thought you would break into her apartment and snoop through it so that you can help the guy get the girl?”</p><p>She looks away, guilty. “We’re not breaking in. She gave me a key. You don’t need to make it sound so...creepy.”</p><p>“Um, but it <em>is</em> creepy? It’s totally an invasion of this woman’s privacy! Are you sure she even likes him?”</p><p>Ladybug ducks under his arm and heads back into the living area. “No, Chat, you don’t understand! I’ve seen these two together. I know that they like each other, even if…” she trails off. </p><p>Adrien follows her as he finishes her sentence. “Even if they’ve never said more than ten words to each other?”  </p><p>(Considering his real-life interactions with Marinette, the irony of his words is just too sweet.)</p><p>She smiles awkwardly at him. “Yes?”</p><p>“Ladybug!”</p><p>“Shh! You’ll wake Smelly Wolf," she admonishes. </p><p>Adrien snickers. “That’s the dog’s name?”</p><p>"Yes. Now be quiet. I promise we won’t do anything bad. Also, like I said we’re not breaking in. Mylène <em>gave</em> me this key. I agreed to walk the dog and water the plants while she’s gone in exchange for her help with the gnome thing. I figured I'd kill two birds with one stone, that's all.”</p><p>He lifts a brow at her. “Then why did you ask <em>me</em> to come along?”</p><p>A beat of silence follows. “I dunno, I guess I’ve gotten used to having you around.” </p><p>It doesn't escape Adrien's notice how Ladybug's cheeks darken as she speaks. <em>Well, that’s different.</em> She seems...flustered. He’s never seen her this flustered before.</p><p>He leans in, an impish smirk painted on his face. “Are you...lying?”</p><p>Ladybug’s eyes widen at his question in a manner he finds both hilarious and utterly adorable. “No!” she protests. “It’s not like I like you or anything— I mean, sure, I like you, but, um, not in that way; well, you know, as partners,” she adds with a feeble laugh.</p><p>Adrien leans back, chuckling. “I’m just teasing, you know." </p><p>Ladybug pushes him away, smacking him on the chest as she crosses toward the makeshift office space that’s set up by the window. “You’re the worst,” she mutters.</p><p>The jab has no bite - not that it matters, because Adrien is still focused on that part where Ladybug had said she liked him. A stupid grin threatens to take over his face at the thought. <em>Is this what teenage crushes are like?</em> he wonders. Because he totally understands the hype.</p><p>He watches as she traces a finger along the spines of the books lining one shelf. “Look!” she says. “Poetry books! She has so many of them. Maybe Ivan can write her a poem.”</p><p>“That's actually kind of a good idea," he concedes.</p><p>“And look at this…” Ladybug leans down to examine a stack of books piled on the desk. She gasps. “I knew it,” she whispers triumphantly.</p><p>“<em>The Joy of Mixology...The Drunken Botanist...The Cocktail Codex</em>,” Adrien reads. “I don’t get it. What is this supposed to mean?”</p><p>“It means,” Ladybug says with an eye roll, “that Mylène is just as interested in getting to know Ivan as he is about her!”</p><p>“And how did you figure that one out?”</p><p>“By the books. They’re all about cocktails.”</p><p>“So?” </p><p>“So, Ivan is a bartender. And Mylène always orders the same thing, a mint cordial. But lately, now that I think about it, she’s been ordering a different drink every time she comes in. Grapefruit thyme fizz...pisco sour...elderflower spritz - oh my goodness, why didn’t I see it before? It’s so obvious that she’s trying to get his attention!”</p><p>Adrien still finds it a bit of a stretch. “And how do you know about her drink orders?”</p><p>“Trade secret,” she quips. </p><p>“Still doesn’t mean she likes him.”</p><p>“True.” Despite the concession, the glint in her eye suggests there is more to the story. “But the little doodle of a heart with the name <em>Ivan </em>on it might mean something.”</p><p>Adrien gapes at her, shaking his head in disbelief. “<em>No</em>.”</p><p>“<em>Yes</em>,” she crows, pointing to the pad of paper next to the books.</p><p>Ladybug’s grin is too infectious, and he chuckles in spite of his defeat. </p><p>“Okay, fine. I support this matchmaking scheme of yours.”</p><p>“Ha! You just need trust me, Chat,” she says smugly.</p><p>“With my life. And apparently, with my criminal record.”</p><p>“For the last time, we’re not doing anything illegal!” she cries in exasperation.</p><p>He shushes her, stifling a laugh of his own. “Careful, Ladybug. You don’t want to wake Smelly Wolf.”</p><p>Just then, Adrien notices the brown paper package Ladybug is holding in one hand. “By the way, what’s that? Special delivery from Loverboy?”</p><p>“Oh,” she says, blushing. “Actually, this is for you.” Ladybug unceremoniously shoves the parcel into his arms. “I, um - I made you something.”</p><p>The admission takes him by surprise, shutting him up completely. All previous bickering takes a backseat to the package now resting in his hands. Was this the real reason she’d invited him to tag along?</p><p>He looks up at Ladybug, who is watching him expectantly. “Well?”</p><p>The prospect of a present from Ladybug thrills him more than he can say, but he tries to play it off. “A gift? Aw, Bugaboo - I’m touched.”</p><p>Adrien ignores the pout Ladybug sends his way and eagerly tears into the paper, lifting up a black hoodie. It’s simple but impeccable in its construction, and he can tell just by looking at it that it will fit him perfectly. Adrien runs the fabric between his fingers; it’s buttery soft and lightweight, perfect for the warmer weather to come. But the best part, he notes with wonderment, is the pair of cat ears that have been sewn onto the hood.</p><p>"You...you made this? For me?” he asks haltingly.</p><p>Ladybug shifts from side to side. “Yeah. I was...tired of hearing you complain about your cat ears, but then I thought, you might want something a bit lighter since it’s nearly summer. I guessed on the measurements, but if it doesn’t fit you I can take it back and-”</p><p>“No. Stop,” he says firmly, holding the garment close to his chest. “I love it. <em>I love it.</em> It’s absolutely perfect.”</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>“Absolutely.” Impulsively, he leans down to give her a peck on the cheek. “Thank you, Ladybug.”</p><p>Adrien abruptly turns around, slipping his old hoodie up and over his head so that he can try on his new gift. As expected, it fits like a glove. He flexes his arms, enjoying the feel of the fabric on his skin.  He’s modeled the creations of some of the most famous designers in the world, but this has to be the best thing he’s ever worn. And it’s just for him.</p><p>Plucking his old cat ears off his head, he pulls the hood up. He adjusts his mask to make sure it’s secure, then spins back around, extending his arms to show off Ladybug's handiwork. </p><p>“So, how do I look?”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Marinette isn’t sure how to respond. In fact, she’s having a difficult time functioning altogether. Between the banter, and teasing, and the leaning in and smelling really good, and that annoyingly charming smirk of his, she’s been struggling since they walked into Mylène’s apartment. </p><p>However, at this exact point in time, she is on the verge of a complete and total shutdown. All of her spare brain cells appear to be vacillating between two thoughts:</p><p> </p><ol>
<li>
<em>Chat Noir kissed me.</em> (Well, not exactly - it was just a friendly peck on the cheek. But the intimacy of the gesture had definitely thrown her for a loop, and Marinette is grateful that he’d turned around to try his gift on so that he wouldn’t see her blush.)</li>
</ol><p> </p><ol>
<li>
<em>And then he took his shirt off. </em>(Well, not exactly - it was just his hoodie. But when his undershirt had ridden up to reveal the muscles of his back, it had been enough to make her mouth go dry.) </li>
</ol><p> </p><p>“Ladybug?” Chat Noir’s voice brings her back to reality. She looks up to see him holding in a laugh. “Thought I’d lost you there for a second.”</p><p>“Huh? Oh, sorry. You look great. I’m just glad it fits.”</p><p>He grins at her. "I can’t believe you figured it out without taking actual measurements. You're very talented. Are you sure you're not some famous fashion designer in disguise?" </p><p>Marinette blushes at the compliment. "No, nothing like that...I mean, I did study fashion design, but it hasn't really led to anything." The admission comes out almost by accident; it’s another one of those specific personal details that she knows she shouldn’t be sharing with the stranger before her, lest her identity be revealed. </p><p>But the word <em>stranger </em>leaves a bad taste in her mouth. She's not sure why she keeps referring to him as such; it's hardly appropriate given how much they've been talking lately. He's her friend, but even that descriptor is starting to feel inadequate. </p><p>Marinette tests out the label Monsieur Fu had given him. <em>Partner</em>. Yeah. He's her partner. </p><p>A partner whose name she's not allowed to know. </p><p>Chat Noir smiles, seemingly unaware of the weight of her confession. "Well, between you and me, I think you could really go places. There are lots of fashion houses looking for new talent. It's really just a matter of sending your portfolio to the right people to get your foot in the door." </p><p>Marinette tilts her head at him, amused. "You seem pretty confident about your knowledge of the inner workings of the fashion industry, Chat Noir. Are you sure you're not moonlighting as a model in your spare time?" She laughs quietly when his eyes go wide at her jibe.</p><p>"Me? A model?" he sputters. Recovering himself, he adds, "If you wanted to tell me I was handsome, you could have just said so."</p><p>Marinette elbows him with a chuckle. "I have a feeling your ego doesn't need further inflating."</p><p>"On the contrary. My ego needs all the validation it can get." </p><p>Marinette senses that there is more to what Chat is saying than a simple joke, but she drops the issue. There have been enough accidental confessions today; they shouldn’t tread any further down that path if they want to keep their real lives a secret from one another. </p><p>(For the first time, she’s wondering what would happen if they didn’t. And it scares the hell out of her.)</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Nearly an hour has passed by the time they exit Mylène’s apartment building. The light drizzle that had met them at the start of their mission has now given way to a steady downpour. The raindrops bounce on the pavement in rhythm, occasionally punctuated by a rumble of thunder.</p><p>Stepping onto the sidewalk, Adrien smiles, vindicated. For all of Ladybug’s teasing from earlier, his readiness for the weather has definitely come in handy. He opens up the umbrella and spins around, an <em>I told you so</em> at the ready. </p><p>The dig dies on his lips when he catches Ladybug hanging back under the shelter of the entryway. It’s then that he realizes she doesn't have anything to protect her from the rain. She'll be soaked within a minute if she tries to venture out into the open.</p><p>Adrien softens. "Hey. Not that I want to pry, but...do you live far from here?"</p><p>"What? Oh, um, no. I actually live really close by. Not really worth trying to catch a taxi, so I'll just wait it out. Maybe I’ll go back upstairs and hang out with Smelly Wolf for a while. I have to come back to take him for a walk later, anyway." </p><p>He casts his eyes heavenward, and all he sees is grey. "You may not be able to do that for quite a while, by the looks of things."</p><p>"I'll be okay."</p><p>Adrien studies her expression, wishing that her mask wasn't so good at hiding her features so he could confirm what he already suspects. She is clearly uncomfortable - actually, now that he thinks about it, she’d been weirdly quiet toward the tail end of their recon mission, too - but for whatever reason doesn't want him to know what the matter is. If he wasn't such a good liar himself, he would be fooled by how her smile seems to project an air of calm. It's the same look he used to give Nathalie every time she’d told him Father wouldn't be there for dinner. </p><p>Something tells him now is not the time to push. But after what she’s done for him today - not the gift, but everything else - the last thing he wants to do is leave her on a rainy sidewalk to brave the elements alone. (Indeed, he’s increasingly of the mind that he wouldn’t ever want to leave her, period.) There must be something he can do for her in return. </p><p>He makes a decision - one that, despite its apparent insignificance, cements the path these two are destined to take. </p><p>(Both are, of course, oblivious of this.)</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Chat Noir holds out his umbrella. "Here."</p><p>Marinette's eyes snap up to meet his. "Huh? No, I don't-"</p><p>"Yes, you do. You'll get soaked out there if you try to go out."</p><p>"But-"</p><p>"But, nothing. I'm hopping on the métro, and the closest station is like, 50 metres away, so I'll survive. Besides," Chat adds with a wink, "I have my special hoodie to keep me warm and dry. It was a gift, you know. A good friend made it for me."</p><p>Marinette can feel the blush rising to her cheeks in spite of herself.<em> Friends. Just friends.</em></p><p>Tentatively, she reaches out. Her fingers brush his and she draws back, jolted by the spark she feels. Her eyes widen and she looks up at him, wondering if he'd felt it, too. Chat’s hand, however, remains steady. Marinette takes the umbrella from him, holding tightly to the handle. </p><p>“Just, um, be careful. Sometimes my umbrella likes to-”</p><p>It snaps shut over her head.</p><p>“- do that,” Chat finishes.</p><p>Marinette fumbles with the catch, pushing it up into place. The two look at each other and share a laugh - tiny giggles that grow into full belly laughs at the awkwardness of the moment.</p><p>“Thanks, <em>Chaton</em>,” she says when the laughter subsides, using her free hand to wipe away some stray tears that have leaked past her mask.</p><p>“For the defective umbrella?” he asks, his eyes still full of mirth.</p><p>"No," she chuckles. Her tone pivots quickly to something more serious as a veritable montage of shared memories flashes through her mind. “For everything."</p><p>They lapse into silence for a few precious seconds, huddled together beneath the large, black canopy. In that small window, Marinette senses a shift in the air, a buzzing of energy that tingles in her fingertips as she becomes aware of his closeness. There’s intensity in the way Chat is looking at her that is unsettling, like he can't believe she's thanked him for an umbrella that literally just attacked her. But there's something...exhilarating about it as well. There's a certain softness in the curve of his lips that makes her heart beat a little faster, and behind those piercing green eyes, a hint of something more vulnerable, like he's asking a question to which only she holds the answer. Maybe it’s the rain, but the whole scene feels kind of...romantic. And with him standing barely a hair's breadth away, she wonders if Chat wants to do something like kiss her - for real this time. </p><p>More notably, for the first time, she silently acknowledges that part of her can’t help but be intrigued by the idea of kissing him, as well. </p><p>Despite the urge to lean in, Marinette holds back, frozen by the understanding that this is merely a partnership, a friendship...at the end of the day, they don’t really know each other. <em>Nothing could ever come of this. Could it?</em></p><p>The moment is shattered when a car passes through a puddle, sending a small wave splashing toward them. Instinctively, they spring apart to avoid the spray.  </p><p>Chat Noir clears his throat, a tinge of red peeking out past the collar of his hoodie. “I - ahem. I should get going. Till our next mission?”</p><p>“Yeah,” she rasps. “I’ll text you.”</p><p>He leans in to give her another quick peck on the cheek, his reply a low murmur only she can hear. </p><p>“I’ll be waiting, Milady.” </p><p>With that, Chat Noir raises his hood over his head and darts off into the rain, leaving a breathless Marinette to wonder what the hell just happened.</p><p>This much, she knows: she’s in trouble. </p><p>(She has no idea how much that applies to him, as well.)  </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Got some family stuff to attend to next week, so I most likely won't be posting the next chapter until the week after. In the meantime, though, please feel free to leave a comment! Thanks for reading :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. May 17</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Big, big, big thanks to dealan, merciki, and serendipitousReckonings with this chapter!!</p><p>For those who care to know, the second section of this chapter takes place at LPM. As usual, all shop talk is pretty innocent, but heads up just in case.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Marinette lingers outside the bakery door. Barring the odd adolescent indiscretion, it’s perhaps the first time in her life that she’s truly hesitated to enter. Tom &amp; Sabine Boulangerie Patisserie is, it goes without saying, more than just her family’s business; it’s been her home.</p><p>She lets out a little sigh at the thought. <em>Today is the day</em>, she thinks wistfully. Even though she moved out of her family’s apartment months ago, it feels like she’s leaving home with what she’s about to do.</p><p>The bell tinkles to announce her arrival. The early morning rush has long since ended - Tom and Sabine know better than to ask their daughter to come in from across town for seven in the morning - so she’s relieved to find the place empty.</p><p>Marinette looks around as if for the first time, absorbing every detail: the gold edges of the glass display case, the ornate floral motif of the tile floors, the wooden peels resting on cast iron brackets suspended from the ceiling. A wave of nostalgia washes over her as she studies the bakery logo - <em>her </em>design - inscribed into the window. Her parents have always been so supportive of her talents. So why does she feel like she’s abandoning them?</p><p><em>Don’t be a sentimental idiot</em>, she scoffs silently. <em>It’s not like you’re leaving the country or something.</em></p><p>Still, there’s a sense of finality in her decision to close this chapter of her life that gets her a bit choked up. Deep down, she knows that she’s been using her concern for her parents as a crutch of sorts; it had been easy enough to convince herself she was doing the right thing when she first finished school, but it’s gone on for long enough. </p><p>It’s just a little harder than she had expected it would be to let go.</p><p>“You okay, <em>chérie?</em>”</p><p>Marinette looks up to find her mother in the doorway, a look of concern painted on her face. “I’m fine, Maman. But I was wondering if I could chat with you and Papa for a minute?”</p><p>“Of course. Tom!” Sabine calls. “Marinette’s here.”</p><p>Her father appears a moment later, pulling her into a bear hug. “Morning, sweetie. How are things?”</p><p>Marinette hugs him back a little more tightly than usual, allowing herself a second to pretend she’s just a kid hanging out in her parents’ shop. “Things are good,” she says as she releases the embrace. “But I have something to discuss with you guys.”</p><p>Sabine and Tom eye her curiously as she reaches into her bag for a folder. She pulls out a piece of paper and lays it out on the counter, smoothing it out. The design on the poster is delicately illustrated to match the aesthetic of the shop, and although it’s a little fancier than one would envision for such a purpose, the intent behind it is no less clear.</p><p>Tom stares at the notice. <em>“Help Wanted?”</em> he reads questioningly.</p><p>“Yes. I’ve already drafted job postings to share on the major career websites, and I’ve made contact with a few local culinary schools to see if they are interested in setting up an apprenticeship program.”</p><p>“Does this mean…?”</p><p>“That I’ve found a new job? No,” Marinette says with a shake of the head. “But...I think it’s time for me to move on.”</p><p>Her parents are quiet as they process her words. <em>Oh no</em>, she thinks. <em>I’ve got to say something. They’re going to freak out.</em></p><p>(And they do. Just not in the way she expects.)</p><p>“Listen,” Marinette begins by way of explanation. “I-”</p><p>“- Oh, thank God,” Tom exhales.</p><p>“- This is wonderful!” Sabine exclaims in the same breath, clapping her hands excitedly.</p><p>“Wait, what?” Marinette cocks her head at her parents. “Were you...were you <em>expecting </em>this?”</p><p>“No, of course not!” Tom says, but that only confuses her more. “I mean, yes, we are surprised. But we’re just so…”</p><p>“...excited for you,” Sabine finishes. “We know how hard you’ve been working, both here and at the café. But we know, honey. We know this isn’t the career you want for yourself. And we don’t want you wasting your time working for us when you could be out there pursuing your own dreams.”</p><p>Sabine’s words don’t exactly have the desired effect. “You...you think I’ve been wasting my time here?” Marinette asks. Tears prick at the back of her eyes as she realizes she’d actually hoped her parents would be a little more upset about losing her. </p><p>(The truth is, they are a bit more broken up about it than they’re letting on. They’ve just had more time to prepare for this eventuality than their daughter has.)  </p><p>“That’s not what your mother means,” Tom says. “What we mean is, your mom and I made peace a long time ago with the fact that you’re meant for a different kind of life. We just want you to be happy.” He takes his daughters hands in his. “We love you, Marinette. We don’t want to hold you back by thinking we expect you to follow in our footsteps. We’re just relieved you’ve decided to take this step without us pushing you out the door.”</p><p>Marinette heaves a sigh. “It’s not that simple.”</p><p>Sabine frowns. “Oh. You’re still scared to apply, aren’t you?”</p><p>(Ah, Sabine - cutting to the heart of the matter. In truth, she finds the timing of this conversation nothing short of wondrous, and is relieved that Adrien had demurred when she had floated the idea of him speaking with her daughter. After all, it’s so much better to have Marinette bring the topic up herself. Little does Sabine know that her concerns actually did reach Marinette's ears by way of her favorite customer...just not in the way she had anticipated.)</p><p>“Of course I’m scared!” Marinette huffs. “I’m terrified that I’ve missed my chance, and the longer I hold off, the harder it will be for me to get my foot in the door.” Her gaze drops to the floor. “But - and maybe it doesn’t make sense to you, but it’s how I feel - but I can’t move forward until I know that you guys are going to be okay. You’ve worked so hard, for as long as I can remember. I mean, do you even remember the last time you took a vacation? I just need to know that even if I’m not helping you out, you’re going to slow down.” </p><p>Tom quirks a brow. “We’re not ancient, Marinette,” he points out.</p><p>“Yeah, I know. But do you really want to end up like Grand-papa, working yourself to exhaustion by the oven instead of enjoying a break now and then?”</p><p>Her parents go quiet. “Well,” Sabine says eventually. “I guess it’s true that we’ve been rather singularly minded for a while…”</p><p>Tom hums in reluctant agreement. “And you’re right about your grandfather as well. You know, he’s been saying these strange things about getting mail from his garden gnome. Suddenly he’s thinking about going on holiday abroad...”</p><p>Despite her agitation, Marinette has to work to keep a satisfied smile off her face. <em>Stay focused. You can celebrate </em>that <em>victory later.</em></p><p>“Well, you should, too!” she counters. “I’m just...worried about you two.”</p><p>Sabine walks around the counter to give her daughter a hug. “Marinette,” she says, “we're grateful for your help. And you make an excellent point, I'll admit. But I don't want you using concern for us as an excuse to stay on the sidelines, okay? You have so much to share with the world - not just your parents.”</p><p>Marinette reaches up to squeeze the arm Sabine has wrapped around her shoulder. “I know,” she says with a little sniffle. “And yes, I'm nervous about applying, but at least I have my job at the café as a backup until I find my way into the industry. But I would feel a lot better if I knew that I wouldn’t be leaving you in a lurch by striking out on my own.”</p><p>Tom gives her a sheepish smile. “To be honest...your mom and I have talked about taking on an apprentice. But we didn’t want to think you weren’t welcome at the bakery anymore by trying to hire someone new.”</p><p>A laugh bubbles up. “So you didn’t advertise because I didn’t quit, and I didn’t quit because you didn’t advertise?”</p><p>“It appears so!” Sabine chuckles.</p><p>Marinette rolls her eyes. “Oh my God, Chat would love this.”</p><p>“Who?” </p><p>“Huh?” she squeaks. “Oh, it’s...just...a friend.” Her cheeks redden at the sight of her mother’s bemused smile.</p><p>Her father spares her further scrutiny (and embarrassment), turning his attention back to Marinette’s advertisement instead. “Well, I think we’re all in agreement. We’ll take a closer look at this notice of yours and see if we need to add anything before we put it on the door. While we’re at it, we should also sit down and discuss how to make this whole apprenticeship plan work. Maybe you could stay after closing and we’ll talk about it over dinner?”</p><p>Her parents smile hopefully at her, and she knows everything is going to be okay.</p><p>“Actually,” Marinette replies, “Do you think we could do it tomorrow? I've got somewhere I need to be later this afternoon.” </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Adrien doesn’t want to be at work this afternoon. And unfortunately, the day is far from over.</p><p>Between juggling two secret jobs and dealing with the blowback of his refusal to go to Milan, the cracks in Adrien’s typically cheery exterior are finally starting to show. Nathalie had seen fit to schedule not one, not two, but three photoshoots this week alone...a “clerical error,” she had called it, as if he’s ever seen her make a mistake once in all the years she’s worked for his father. The result: he’s tired, he’s stressed, and he’s more than a little grumpy. </p><p>Worst of all, he hasn’t been able to meet up with Ladybug since their adventure snooping around her friend’s apartment. In fact, for some reason she’s been kind of quiet. There’s been the odd message now and again, but the drop in communication is starting to whittle away at his self-confidence. </p><p>His mind wanders back to the last time he saw her, when they were standing under his umbrella in the rain. It's a scene he has thought about with alarming frequency over the past few days: the flush of her cheeks, and the way her eyes seemed to bore into his. How her tongue had darted out to wet her lips - an unconscious action, he’s sure, but one that had almost made him lose it completely. </p><p>He’d almost kissed her. </p><p>He’d <em>wanted </em>to kiss her. </p><p>Is that why she’s been keeping her distance?</p><p>Adrien sighs, mulling over the disaster that his life has become as he watches a customer leave the shop. As soon as he’s alone, he digs through the backpack he’s kept under the counter for his one saving grace: namely, the paper bag of treats he’d managed to snag from Tom and Sabine’s after an early morning run. Adrien smiles at the extra croissant he’s saved like it’s an old friend; it isn’t quite fresh anymore, but it provides him comfort as he tears at the buttery layers of dough. </p><p>His smile widens when he notices a text come in - from Ladybug. Relief floods through him at the thought that she hasn’t been avoiding him after all. He eagerly grabs at his phone to see what she has to say.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>(12:51) I did it!</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>(12:51) Did what?</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>(12:52) I told my parents about the plan to hire someone else so I can quit. It went really well</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>(12:52) That's awesome news! Proud of you, Bug &lt;3</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Adrien winces as soon as he presses send. A heart emoji? Was that too much? </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>(12:54) i wouldn't have been able to do this without your help, Kitty. Still kinda terrified about putting myself out there but also kinda excited you know?</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>(12:54) Aw you don't need to say that. You’re gonna do great no matter where you land</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>(12:55) I could say the same. If you finally decide to quit working for your dad and look for something else, I am happy to help</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>(12:55) I'm trying, trust me. Still trying to figure stuff out though </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>(12:56) Fair. You don't have to do that alone, though. Would it help to talk it through with someone? Doesn't have to be me. Regardless, I'm here for you.</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>(12:56) I appreciate that. Thanks.</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>(12:57) &lt;3</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Adrien’s stomach flips. Okay, so maybe the heart emoji thing wasn’t too much after all.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>(12:57) Gotta get back to work. I know I’ve been kinda MIA, but talk later this afternoon?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Adrien frowns. Much as he’d love to catch up with his Lady, he can’t bring himself to call Marcelle and cancel. </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>(12:58) Can’t. Stuck here at the shop until 14:00 and going straight to my other job right after.</strong>
</p><p><em>(12:58) :( </em> </p><p>
  <strong>(12:58) But I got a window tomorrow afternoon, around 16h?</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>(12;58) Okay sounds good. Byeeee </em>
</p><p>
  <strong>(12:59) Bye &lt;3</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>The bell pings to signal someone's entry into the shop. Cheered by his exchange with Ladybug, Adrien puts his phone away and he goes about the task of assisting his customers with a bit more of a spring in his step. In fact, it gets so busy that even Plagg emerges from his cave to offer an extra hand. </p><p>But soon it's back to being quiet, and he's back to being bored.</p><p>“Can I ask you a question?”</p><p>Adrien cautiously turns to face his boss. Plagg never asks for permission to do anything, much less ask a question. <em>What is he up to this time?</em> </p><p>He’s only barely able to hide the wariness in his voice as he replies. “Yeah...shoot.” </p><p>“What are you doing here?”</p><p>Wariness morphs into confusion. “Huh?“</p><p>Plagg vaguely sweeps his hand about in reference to the empty shop. “I've honestly been asking myself this question since you first started. Why are you working in <em>my </em>shop, of all places? You’re clearly too smart for this shit.”</p><p>Adrien laughs at his boss’s bluntness. “There is dignity in all work, my friend,” he says, parroting Ladybug’s earlier advice.</p><p>“Tell that to the next person you who comes in here asking about edible underwear,” Plagg deadpans. “No, but seriously. I get what you mean, but like, unless you feel really passionate about helping people with their sex lives, working here isn’t exactly a career, you feel me? I mean, I know why I’m here. But for you? I'm not blind, kid; this is just a pit stop to something bigger. It’s temporary. I mean, if money were no object, would you really be sitting here selling strap-ons? Or is there something else you’d do if you didn’t have to worry about your rent?”</p><p>(The irony, of course, is that money isn’t an object. And said irony isn’t lost on Adrien. But the real irony is that working at the sex shop isn't even the job he’d want to quit first.)</p><p>Adrien’s gaze lands on the half-eaten croissant still left on the counter, sparking an epiphany. "It sounds funny, but I'm actually kind of interested in going into food service." </p><p>Plagg smirks. “So why don’t you go do that? Go find a kitchen to work in and see if that's something you really want.” </p><p>Adrien’s brows knit together. “Wait. Are you...firing me?”</p><p>“Of course not,” he barks out. “I’d be an idiot to get rid of my best employee. But honestly, you’d be an idiot to stay if you have an idea of something to do that could actually make you happy. Anyway, if it doesn't work out, you can always give me a call.”</p><p>Adrien sits in stunned silence. He can’t really believe that his own boss is actively trying to give him career advice...and that it actually makes sense. Why he didn't think of that, he isn't sure. Maybe he just needed someone to guide him toward the obvious instead of telling him to figure out the answer on his own. <em>Ladybug was right</em>, he thinks with a smile.</p><p>For the first time in his life, Adrien feels a nervous excitement about taking a new step into the future. He wonders if Tom and Sabine could help him find something. </p><p>An alarm pings on Adrien's phone, letting him know that his shift is almost up. He rises from the stool behind the counter and starts to gather his things. </p><p>“I’m sorry to cut this short, but I’ve gotta head over to Foire du Trône right after this.” He gives his boss a small smile. “But, um. Thanks, Plagg. This has been...enlightening. I really appreciate it.”</p><p>Plagg waves away his apology. “Don’t worry about it, kid. I’m just glad I was able to help. Anyway, I’ve seen this coming for a while. Sooner or later people would figure out <em>Adrien Agreste</em> works here, and then I’d actually have to fire you. I fucking hate paparazzi.”</p><p>Adrien's eyes go wide. “What? You- I, um, huh?”</p><p>Plagg holds his hand up to stop the young man’s spluttering. “Save it, <em>Nino</em>,” he says with an eye roll. “I know how much I pay you, and there’s no way you can afford all that fancy cheese with what you make. Besides, I’m not blind. The people who come in here may be too prudish to make enough eye contact with you to notice, but I knew who you were the second you walked through that door.”</p><p>(The man does have a point. Adrien’s face, after all, is still a regular fixture on advertisements across the city.)</p><p>“But...you gave me a job anyway? Even though you knew I was lying?” Adrien isn’t sure whether he should be touched or shocked by this.</p><p>Plagg just shrugs. “I figured you had your reasons for keeping your name to yourself. But it never really mattered, seeing as you showed up on time and never complained. Plus, who am I to say no to free camembert?” </p><p>Adrien shakes his head. “Wow. I don’t know what to say.” </p><p>“Don’t say anything. It’s no big deal,” Plagg says, letting out a yawn. “Anyway, get out of here and go to your other undercover gig. I’m gonna take a nap.” </p><p>He makes for his office, but turns to say one more thing. “A piece of advice, though? That Bug girl of yours, the one you say is just a friend - if you’re as into her as it sounds, you might wanna come clean about this double life of yours. You know, assuming you haven't told her already.”</p><p>Then, as usual, he leaves the room without waiting for a response.</p><p>A mildly dazed Adrien is left to issue his reply to the empty shop. “Yeah. Yeah, I should do that.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>"I shouldn't be doing this."</p><p>Marinette's heart pounds as she stands at the entrance of the Foire du Trône. The rollercoaster she spies in the distance seems to mirror her own emotions, oscillating between excitement, anxiety, and determination. So, too, do the words she mumbles quietly to herself as she debates whether or not to go in.</p><p>"No, this is a good idea. Besides, it’s not a big deal. I’m just here to leave a note. Oh, God, this is stupid. Why did I decide to come here, again? I should have just texted…no. Now is not the time to back down. He’s today’s mission, remember? And you know he’s gonna love it.”</p><p>(If it is not already apparent, Marinette still isn’t quite sure what possessed her to come here this afternoon. She supposes that coming here is significantly less awkward than calling a bunch of sex shops and asking if a guy named Nino works there - something that, she’s embarrassed to admit, had been the original plan, before Chat let slip that he’d be working at the fair today.)</p><p>At the root of Marinette’s indecision is the understanding that tracking Chat down at his workplace is crossing a line. A line that she herself had drawn when they had started working together. She's not supposed to think about what he's like under the mask...not, she’d be quick to say, that she's given it much consideration until now.</p><p>(We all know this to be a lie, but she’s said as much to herself enough times today that she almost believes it.) </p><p>Now that she's here, however, her curiosity about her partner is getting the better of her. </p><p>Marinette ticks through a mental list of what she knows about Chat Noir. He's smart and resourceful. He's funny - stupid puns notwithstanding - and charming, even if she’d never tell him that outright. And kind...how could he not be, when he's willing to throw himself headfirst into strange situations to help total strangers? </p><p>But if her recent conversations with him are any indicator, he’s not as happy as he deserves to be. Chat could use a bit of cheering up...and she owes him a thank you. What better way to thank him, than by making him the target of her next good deed mission?</p><p>(She ignores the real reason for doing this: that she can't stop thinking about that moment in the rain, and needs to get back in control of herself. That, by making him the object of her mission, Marinette feels like she can put some necessary distance between herself and Chat before she does something stupid, like fall in love with him.)</p><p>Marinette takes a calming breath, reminding herself to stay focused. She’s been working on this surprise for a week now, and everything is just about ready to launch. All that’s left now is the invitation. </p><p>Her mind made up, she walks through the main gate. <em>It’s time for Ladybug to go undercover...as Marinette. </em></p><p>Marinette scans the midway as she examines her options. “Now, where would a stray cat enjoy spending his afternoons?” she wonders aloud. Immediately, she eliminates the ferris wheel as a possibility. It’s far too busy, and besides, the man operating the ride doesn’t strike her as the type who’d enjoy having an assistant. Marinette wanders from ride to ride, observing the operators from a distance and considering which one could be the right fit for her Chat Noir. A children’s ride? A tilt-a-whirl? </p><p>Her gaze lands on structure off the beaten path. It’s not what one would call decrepit, but it certainly isn’t as flashy or well-kept as the more popular rides at the fair. Perhaps it’s the fact that it’s still bright outside, but there don’t seem to be many (okay, any) people lined up to get in. <em>La Spookomotive, </em>the sign screams in bright flashing lights. The spooky locomotive. </p><p>A haunted train with a punny name? Sounds like Chat Noir's ideal workplace.</p><p>“Gotcha,” she whispers.</p><p>Confident she’s found her mark, Marinette approaches the ticket booth and finds a woman who looks to be in her late 60s fanning herself with a newspaper. </p><p>“Can I help you?” the woman asks.</p><p>“Hi, um...I was wondering if Ch- if Nino is working here today?” </p><p>The woman lays the paper down. “Nino? Yes, he’s inside working the tunnel. Are you his girlfriend or something?”</p><p>A blush rises to Marinette’s cheeks. “Me? Oh, no. I’m just a friend.”</p><p>The woman eyes her, unconvinced. “Pity. You seem like a sweet girl, just his type. God knows he never has visitors come ‘round. The rest of my employees always have people they know coming by hoping to score a free ride. Moochers, all of them.”</p><p>“Do you know each other well?” Marinette can't help but ask. She hopes her curiosity doesn't make her sound like a creep.</p><p>Chat's boss, however, is happy to share what she knows. “He’s been working with me on and off for nearly a year. When I met Nino, he was in a giant banana suit, advertising for a smoothie stand down the way from my spot at the Tuileries. The poor boy was suffering in the heat, though he tried hard not to show it! Anyway, I told him that if he wanted a job he wouldn't melt in, he should come work for me - and he's stuck around ever since. I take this train to all different fairs in the country, but if I’m within ten kilometres of Paris, he never fails to give me a call. He’s loyal like that, you know? Not that I’m complaining, but Nino really could work anywhere - he’s a smart cookie, that one. One time, we had these Chinese tourists come by the fair and they got all turned around, and you know what he did? Started talking to them in Chinese like they were neighbors; they only needed directions, but he practically gave them a guided tour of the place..."</p><p><em>Chat Noir speaks Chinese?</em> Marinette had known he was smart, but she's still impressed - if not a little disappointed that she's learning this tidbit of information second hand.</p><p>The woman rambles on, oblivious to Marinette's ponderings. "Oh, he’s a sweet, sweet young man. And very funny. Obsessed with puns...reminds me of my late husband, God rest his soul,” the lady says, making a small sign of the cross at the mention of her lost love.</p><p>Marinette smiles at the effusive praise coming from Chat’s employer. “Yes, I’ve noticed the pun thing as well. It’s like he saves them up or something. He has one for every occasion!”</p><p>“Exactly!” The woman laughs along before picking up her paper again. “Anyway,” she says, “Nino isn't off work for another couple hours. Come back at 7pm and I can tell him to wait for you.”</p><p>Marinette’s face falls. “Oh, I can’t stay that long. I’ve got to head out shortly.”</p><p>The lady shrugs. “Suit yourself. But he won’t be coming out until then, so unless you want to take a ride on the train, you’ll have to wait until Friday.”</p><p>She imagines him skulking around the tunnel in his Chat Noir costume, waiting for her to approach. <em>Silly kitty</em>, Marinette thinks with a smirk. She wonders what would happen if she could come up with a way to turn the tables and scare him instead. </p><p>
  <em>Actually...that could be fun.</em>
</p><p>Marinette gives in to the impulse and pulls out her wallet. “How much for a ride?”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Adrien sees the train of wagons approach on the rickety track, and is pleasantly surprised to find that it’s actually occupied. It’s been a slow couple of hours, and he’s happy to finally have something to do.</p><p>Surprise gives way to curiosity when he realizes there’s only one passenger: a lone female figure, seated in the first car. In his experience, the only people who bother purchasing tickets at this time of day are horny boys hoping to cop a feel in the dark from their giggling dates. It’s fun scaring the shit out of those idiot kids, but this? This feels different. </p><p>Still, he reasons, the woman’s gotten on the ride knowing it’s “haunted.” He might as well give her what she’s paid for.</p><p>
  <em>Time for Chat Noir to spring into action.</em>
</p><p>Adrien does a couple stretches as he waits for the train to pass, then leaps gracefully onto the rear wagon. If the lady has noticed his landing, she doesn’t let on. <em>Excellent</em>, he thinks with a grin. Slowly, he clambers from one car to the next, all the while making a low “ooooh” sound like the feline phantom he’s supposed to be playing. When he gets to her car, Adrien twists his body around the headrest, brushing a gloved finger over the nape of her neck.</p><p>Typically, this would be enough to scare the daylights out of a normal customer. Sure, this shitty ride is campy and fake, but that’s why Marcelle hired him - to lend an air of authenticity to the scene. A touch here, a “Boo!” there - it’s what makes the job fun.</p><p>But this is no normal customer. She doesn’t make a sound. She doesn’t even move. </p><p>It’s confusing, but also strangely fascinating. Alluring, even.</p><p>Adrien leans in closer. He vaguely registers the scent of strawberries and sugar. The woman remains facing forward. In the dark, it’s virtually impossible to see more of her than the silhouette of her profile, but there’s something familiar about her that draws him in. An image of bluebell eyes bracketed by a red and black mask pops into his mind unbidden. </p><p>Adrien frowns, surprised by the amount of resolve it requires for him to stay in character. <em>You’re not here to fantasize about Ladybug</em>, he reminds himself. <em>Just do your job</em>.</p><p>“Oooooh,” he murmurs lowly, with a little more huskiness in his voice than is probably appropriate. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>It's the "ooooh" that does her in.</p><p>Marinette is frozen in place. For all her imaginings before the ride began, nothing had prepared her for this. Her senses are utterly overwhelmed. The canned screams and cackles are on mute, and the fluorescent monsters in the tunnel have melted away. All of her is focused on the moaning ghost noises coming from the masked man in her peripheral vision. Her mind is consumed by one question: <em>How is he doing this to me?</em> For as much as she’s thought about that day in the rain, the intensity of that moment pales in comparison to what’s happening right now. Chat Noir's barely laid a finger on her, yet the feel of his touch on her neck sets her on fire to the tips of her toes. </p><p>She struggles to maintain her composure, reminding herself that this was not why she got on this ride (though at this point, the sensory overload is such that she’s starting to forget what compelled her to purchase a ticket in the first place). <em>Chat is a partner - a friend</em>, she tries to remind herself. But what he is doing to her right now has a whole different feeling to it. A feeling that is decidedly much, much more than friendly.</p><p>Silently, she tests his name out on her lips. <em>Nino</em>. For some reason, it feels wrong. <em>Chat Noir</em>, on the other hand, feels right. Much more right than it ought to.</p><p>Marinette’s eyelids flutter shut, surrendering to the fantasy. She imagines he knows it's her - that, alone in the darkness of the tunnel, they can for this brief moment give into this growing feeling of want between them. She can feel the warmth of his breath on her neck as he continues to moan quietly in her ear. Suppressing a shudder, she tilts her head toward him, but keeps her face angled away in an unspoken challenge. <em>If you want me, come and get me.</em></p><p>Chat Noir seems to respond in kind, dragging his gloved finger along her jaw. Her breath hitches at the contact. She’s almost ashamed at how much this turns her on, but she can’t bring herself to make him stop. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p><em>I should stop</em>. </p><p>The woman’s gasp, however slight, has not escaped his notice, and Adrien suspects that he’s crossed a line. There’s ghostly-creepy, and then there’s stalker-creepy, and he would prefer to keep his interactions with his customers in the former category. </p><p>Adrien pulls his hand back at the guilty realization that he hadn’t stopped thinking of Ladybug the entire time. That he had imagined it was her as he traced the pad of his finger along the curve of her neck and <em>oohed</em> in her ear. That it had been Ladybug who he'd felt lean into his touch. That he had contemplated turning her face toward him so that she could see the building desire in his eyes. </p><p><em>Way to be professional, you idiot. What are you going to say when Marcelle tells you that you’ve sexually harassed a customer?</em> </p><p>He considers apologizing right then and there, but backs off. Despite what had been going through his mind at the time, he rationalizes that he hadn’t actually done anything significantly different from his normal ghostly routine. He’d just been...a little distracted. Besides, if there are any complaints, he knows that Marcelle won’t hesitate to stop the ride and yell at him herself.</p><p><em>I’m probably overthinking this</em>, he tells himself as he feels the train round the final corner. <em>Best to just let this one go.</em></p><p>Slowly, silently, he withdraws. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Marinette blinks out of her daze. Chat Noir has disappeared, and light has appeared at the end of the tunnel, signaling that the ride will soon be coming to an end. <em>Idiot</em>, she berates herself. She’s just experienced the most sensuous moment in her life to date…on a fun fair train ride at 5:30 in the afternoon. </p><p>
  <em>There’s no way I’ll be able to look that nice lady from the ticket booth in the eye after this. </em>
</p><p>Flustered and more than a little embarrassed at how she handled herself in his presence, Marinette jumps out of the train a nanosecond after it’s come to a stop and hurries away. Her mortification ebbs quickly, but the damage is done. This encounter has only proven what she’s already suspected. There’s no way she’s ready to reveal her true identity to Chat Noir - not today, not when he affects her like this, and certainly not when she has no idea what effect <em>she</em> may have on <em>him</em>. </p><p><em>Although...</em>she thinks to herself….maybe he <em>did</em> know it was her. Or if he didn’t, perhaps he imagined it was she whose neck he’d caressed so gently. </p><p>(Oh, dear Marinette. If only she knew how close to the truth she really is.)</p><p>Wishful thinking though it may be, the idea is enough to give her the confidence to approach a familiar scooter she finds parked nearby.</p><p>“Stop. This is no time for fantasies,” she says firmly. After all, she’s on a mission.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“Gotta go. See you on Friday!” </p><p>Adrien clocks out at 19:00 and cheerfully waves goodbye to Marcelle, jogging toward the exit as quickly as he can without being rude. Marcelle is a sweet lady, but she can really talk his ear off when she gets into a groove, and he’s starving. </p><p>He slows to a more comfortable pace once he’s out of view, checking his phone for messages as he ambles over to his Vespa. Adrien sighs at the reminders that flash across the screen: <em>breakfast meeting with Father at 08:00, photoshoot 09:00-14:00, Cover Alix @ LPM 19:00-24:00</em>. </p><p>He’s exhausted by tomorrow’s schedule, and it hasn’t even started yet. </p><p>It’s not until Adrien is about to climb onto his scooter that he catches sight of the note taped to one of the handlebars. He looks around, concerned that he may have been spotted by a random fan - or worse, a reporter. Against his better judgment, he unfolds the paper and reads.</p><p>
  <em>Meet me at the Montmartre carousel at 16h tomorrow. Bring 2 euros.</em>
</p><p>There’s a doodle on the page where the signature should be. A ladybug.</p><p>Adrien whips his head around, looking for signs of his partner’s presence in the dusky environs of the fair. He is disappointed, but not surprised, when he comes to the conclusion that she’s long gone. A thought strikes him like lightning - <em>What if...what if Ladybug </em>was <em>the woman on the train?</em> He quickly shakes the idea free, scoffing quietly at his idiocy. Of course that hadn’t been her. Besides, if it had been, there’s no doubt in his mind that she would have said something. </p><p>He pulls out his phone and sends a text to confirm his receipt of Ladybug’s message.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>(19:06) So you're stalking me at work now? How did you even know about the fair?</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>(19:07) gotta keep you on your toes, kitty. Also, if you wanted to keep it a secret you shouldn't have told me you worked there THE DAY WE MET</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>(19:07) Aw, you remembered? I'm touched.</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>(19:08) Yeah yeah. So see you tomorrow?</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>(19:08) I'll be there with bells on.</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Adrien tucks both the note and his phone into his pocket, and replaces his mask with a helmet. <em>Leave it to Bugaboo to shake things up once again</em>, he thinks with a grin. </p><p>Suddenly, tomorrow is looking a whole lot brighter.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Marinette is so busy smiling at her phone that she doesn't hear Monsieur Fu's question.</p><p>"Huh?" she asks, slightly dazed. </p><p>“I was asking if you ended up returning the umbrella this afternoon.  Wasn’t that what you said...that you were thinking of giving it back to him, and possibly telling him who you really are?"</p><p>This time, Marinette ignores the question purposely, zeroing her attention in on the Chinese tea cup cradled in her hands. She’d forgotten that she’d told him that the last time she visited. </p><p>(It’s something she’d mentioned off-handedly in a moment of weakness. She hadn’t been serious - at least, not for long.) </p><p>She blows on the surface of the hot green liquid, staring at the little wisps of steam that billow upwards before taking a delicate sip. “No. I’ve decided that I need to pursue a different stratagem.” </p><p>Monsieur Fu gives her a pointed look - one that she also ignores. She knows what disapproval looks like, and she doesn’t need to see it coming from him. </p><p>Fu, however, is undeterred. “Are you sure that’s what you want to do?” he presses.</p><p>“Absolutely!” she exclaims brightly. “Chat Noir - I mean, Nino - will enjoy this, I’m sure of it. I’ve got it all planned! It will be fun - the poor guy could use some whimsy in his life, you know. It’ll just be another one of Ladybug’s good deeds. And then, after, who knows? I’ll cross that whole <em>revealing our identities</em> bridge when I get to it.”</p><p>Fu hums quietly in response; whether in approval or not, Marinette can’t quite tell. “All right.”</p><p>“All right? That’s it?” <em>It can’t possibly be this simple. </em>She eyes him suspiciously, waiting for the other shoe to drop.</p><p>“Do you wish for me to say more? I was under the impression that you did not want to debate the merits of the issue any further.”</p><p>“I mean, no, I don’t, but...you’re not going to try and talk me out of this?”</p><p>“I see no point in trying to dissuade you from pursuing a stratagem, as you call it, that you have clearly already put so much thought into developing. Unless...”</p><p><em>Aha. There it is</em>, Marinette thinks. “Unless…?” she prompts.</p><p>“Unless you are having second thoughts about your plan, and want me to offer an alternate perspective.”</p><p>“No! Nope! No second thoughts,” Marinette rushes to say. “I’m just excited, that’s all. But if you’re interested, I could tell you what I’m planning to do, in case you had any feedback?” </p><p>He smiles serenely. “That would be wonderful.”</p><p>Marinette blows out a breath - once again ignoring the glint in her neighbor’s eye. She spends the next five minutes walking her neighbor through her plan. </p><p>“So, what do you think?” she asks. </p><p>Monsieur Fu gives an encouraging nod. “It sounds delightful, Marinette. You’re right, your Chat Noir is sure to enjoy this little adventure you have planned.” </p><p>Marinette beams. “So you like it, then?”</p><p>“Of course. There’s just one thing.”</p><p>She gulps. <em>Here we go</em>. “Yes?”</p><p>“Why is it that you plan to remain in the shadows rather than accompany him along the way? I would think that, as partners, he would enjoy the experience all the more if you were by his side.”</p><p>Anxiety at the thought washes over her. “I’m...I’m not ready. I don’t know if I’m ready to know who he is quite yet.” <em>Or if I’m ready for him to know me</em>, she adds silently. “If he does this on his own, at least he won’t be disappointed.”</p><p>“My dear Marinette,” Fu says gently, “who’s to say that anyone could ever be disappointed in knowing you?”</p><p>She smiles weakly, not knowing how else to reply. </p><p>It’s not long before Marinette makes her excuses and escapes to the cocoon of her own apartment, but Fu’s question continues to play in her head. She knows what he’s really asking - <em>why are you so afraid of telling him who you are?</em></p><p>Marinette knows that the most logical thing to do in this scenario is, quite simply, to meet Chat by the carousel with his umbrella, introduce herself properly, and see if anything comes of their meeting. </p><p>(It’s called a reality check, and it’s exactly the kind of thing she is hoping to avoid.)</p><p>“No,” she says to no one in particular. “I will not second-guess my plans just because I have a nosy neighbor who can’t stop questioning how I decide to live my life. I’ve made a lot of progress today. I’ve proven that I can handle the unknown like the strong, confident woman I am. So if I want to do this as Ladybug, then it’s my own damn business,” she huffs.</p><p>Resolute, Marinette marches over to her sewing desk and gets to work. There’s still a lot to do before tomorrow.</p><p>At the back of her mind, however, there remains a lingering suspicion that after this, everything is going to change. </p><p>(Marinette is, of course, completely correct. In fact, in the not-too-distant future, our dear heroine will shake her head at how oddly prescient her thoughts were in this moment. </p><p>However, that is not to say that she will conclude that the accompanying feelings of dread were justified. On the contrary, she will find herself shaking her head with amusement at just how welcome those changes turned out to be.)</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>From here on out, you'll find the plot hewing closer (though not completely) to the Amélie storyline. You're still good if you haven't seen the film, but if you have, I hope you enjoyed my take on the train ride! The big scene in Montmartre is next to come ;)</p><p>Feedback always appreciated! (Just be kind.) Thank you for reading &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. May 18</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Many, many thanks to my betas/pre-readers dealan, merciki, and serendipitousReckonings for their assistance! Also, special shout-out to my friends at the Miraculous Writers Guild for their help with Adrien's photoshoot scene. If you didn't see the works in the <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/collections/mlwritersguildseptevent2020">September Event collection</a>, make sure you do so :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Marinette jostles past a group of tourists toward the exit doors as the train arrives at Abbesses station, muttering curses through her teeth even as she smiles. She doesn’t want to be <em>that</em> kind of local, but she’s anxious to get out of there and back to her apartment before jetting over to Sacré-Coeur. Anxious, as well as annoyed. <em>Of all the things to forget, I can’t believe I didn’t bring the parachute.</em></p><p>She attributes the slip to the very late night she’d spent at her sewing machine - followed by a very early morning at <em>Le 21e</em>. (Tikki, in particular, had been quite shocked that Marinette had requested the breakfast shift at the café - and even more shocked to find that she had arrived on time.) Marinette tries to look on the bright side of things: with work out of the way, she’s now got plenty of time to set up her little scheme. </p><p>Marinette sighs with relief as she sees the path clear on the platform. She readies herself to slip through the throng....but suddenly finds herself distracted when she catches sight of the photo booth situated against the wall. </p><p>The time is 13:35. An idea pops into her head - an impulse, really, but one that she thinks will inject a little something extra to her plans for this afternoon.</p><p>(What she does not realize just yet is the role this small gesture will play in determining her future happiness.)</p><p>Marinette does some quick mental calculations. Assured that this digression won’t put a dent into her schedule, she steps into the booth. Unzipping her backpack, she pulls out a piece of paper, a marker, and a mask...and draws the curtain to a close.</p><p>“Time for a quick photo shoot,” she jokes to herself, and quickly gets to work.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Meanwhile, at the Trocadéro fountains, Adrien is struggling. </p><p>He’s dealt with his fair share of <em>high fashion</em> photo shoots in the past, and normally they wouldn’t really bother him. But today, on this unusually warm May day, the last thing he wants to be dealing with is…</p><p>...actually, he’s not quite sure how to describe it. </p><p>He knows what it’s supposed to be - according to the art director, the theme for today is <em>Carnaval de Paris meets Chronicles of Narnia in the Garden of Eden</em> - but while the concept undoubtedly sounds opulent and otherworldly on paper, it feels a bit more like a hellish fever dream in practice. Adrien blames the enormous papier-mâché snake mask that had been foisted upon him, along with the inexplicable combination of a gold lamé jumpsuit and a fur shawl. The entire get-up makes him feel a bit like Jon Snow from <em>Game of Thrones</em>, if Jon Snow were being eaten by a disco-dancing Muppet.</p><p>(Is Adrien exaggerating? Sadly, no.)</p><p>“<em>Energia</em>, <em>Adriano</em>! I need <em>più energia</em>!” Vincent barks as he moves about, searching for the perfect angle for his shot. “I want to see you smile!”</p><p>Adrien sighs under ten kilos of plaster. <em>How on earth does Vincent even know?</em> His face is completely invisible...something which only makes him more annoyed to be there. Literally any of his father’s models could be doing this shoot instead of him; it’s enough to make him wonder if this isn’t all just some kind of elaborate punishment Gabriel is meting out in retribution for daring to fight back.</p><p>(In fact, his father is exactly the kind of person who would do just such a thing. What’s more, Gabriel had actually all but admitted as such at their breakfast this morning. Adrien had just been too tired and too irritated to pick up on the hint.)</p><p>Desperate for a break, he starts to lift the mask off his head - an action which sends a flurry of PAs running toward him in a panic. Adrien shoots the photographer a sheepish smile as they work to free him from the papier-mâché cage. “Sorry. Do you mind if we take five?”</p><p>Vincent taps his foot with a huff. “We’re already running late.”</p><p><em>“Per piacere, Vincenzo,”</em> Adrien pleads. “I just need a quick breather. You know I’m not the type to complain, but it really is quite warm in there. Just five minutes, that’s all I need.” </p><p>The photographer sighs, unable to deny the model’s request. “Fine,” Vincent replies testily. “But when you get back, I expect to see you back to your usual standard. Focus.”</p><p>
  <em>Focus. Easier said than done.</em>
</p><p>“Absolutely,” he says. “<em>Grazie mille</em>.”</p><p>Adrien reins in the urge to fling the shawl away, taking a deep breath as he allows the hair and makeup team to fuss over absolutely unnecessary touch-ups. Vincent is actually his favorite photographer, but not even working with him has been enough to lift him out of the mood he’s in - a mood that Adrien attributes to the shitshow of a breakfast meeting he’d had earlier. <em>Honestly. Father ignores me for a decade, and just as I’ve started to assert an iota of independence, suddenly he's interested in knowing all about my life?</em> He rolls his eyes at the thought. The man just won’t let up.</p><p>The only thing getting him through the day is the knowledge he’ll be seeing Ladybug soon. 16:00 can’t come soon enough.</p><p>“Okay, let’s get back to work!” Vincent booms impatiently. “We don’t have this location all day.”</p><p>
  <em>So much for a five minute break.</em>
</p><p>Resigned, Adrien squares his shoulders and puts on a brave face as he prepares to don the snake mask once more. He’ll do what he can for Vincent’s sake, but man, is he tired. <em>Seriously,</em> he wonders. <em>How did things get so complicated? </em></p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>As plans go, this might be the most complicated one Marinette has ever come up with.</p><p>She paces back and forth in her hiding spot behind the Montmartre carousel. It's nearly 16:00, and Chat Noir should be showing up any moment now. </p><p>Everything is in place - she’s checked about a thousand times - but she's still feeling nervous. Questions and doubts attack from every angle. What if he thinks her plan is totally lame? What if those kids pack up and go home before Chat gets there? What if Chat doesn’t understand her clues? </p><p>And then there’s the photo. Marinette cringes, suddenly regretting her decision to slip her picture into the mix. It had been done in a flash of self-assurance, but now she's worried that it had been the wrong move. </p><p>Unfortunately, it’s too late to change plans, because at that moment she spots a tall figure alighting from a familiar orange scooter. </p><p>Steeling herself, Marinette pulls out her phone to tap out a message. </p><p><em>Here goes nothing</em>, she thinks.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Adrien watches a crowd of tourists shuffle past him and up the steps toward Sacré-Coeur as he waits for Ladybug to show up. It's been an exhausting day, and the anticipation he had felt before has given way to flat out fatigue. Adrien doesn't want to let her down, but he really hopes whatever she has planned isn't too convoluted for him to follow along. He’s had to deal with enough crazy ideas for one day.</p><p><em>And she's late</em>, he thinks. Granted, she's late a lot, but he crosses his fingers that Ladybug arrives soon. He doesn't want to have to ditch her early so that he can make his shift on time.</p><p>As if on cue, Adrien's phone pings with the notification of an incoming message.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>(16:01) Follow the blue arrows.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Adrien looks down, and sure enough, he sees a series of chalk drawn arrows that appear to be leading in the direction of the Basilica. </p><p>He quirks a brow, confused. Ladybug likes to lead; it’s not like her to leave him to his own devices like this. He taps out a reply.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>(16:02) Are you at the top of the hill???</strong>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Marinette stares at the message on her screen. </p><p>Does she respond? She really does wish she could tell Chat Noir yes, that she’ll be there for him - not that she’s literally hiding in a set of bushes watching him like some kind of creepy stalker. But she also feels like this is something that he needs to do for himself, without her explicit direction. </p><p>(Yes, Marinette is being a chicken. But she’s also right.)</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>There is no answer, but by now Adrien has learned to trust his partner. Shrugging, he pulls his hood over his head and starts making his way along the marked path. </p><p>He's soon huffing and puffing as he makes his way up the steps toward Sacré-Coeur. Despite his eagerness to figure out exactly what his partner is up to, he can't help but marvel at the sights and sounds of the area. Leave it to Ladybug to give him a tiny taste of adventure by exploring a different part of his hometown with this latest mission.</p><p>The trail of arrows runs dry, ending at the feet of a street artist. Adrien frowns, unsure of where to go next...until he catches sight of what is pinned to the artist's easel. </p><p>It's a watercolor painting of a black cat.</p><p>The corners of Adrien's mouth tug upwards at the sight of the picture. It's then that he realizes that he's not meeting Ladybug for another mission. <em>He</em> is the mission. </p><p><em>No wonder she wasn't at the carousel,</em> he thinks. But what, exactly, does she have up her sleeve? He supposes this to be a scavenger hunt of sorts - but what will the prize be when he finally reaches the finish line. What will she have waiting for him? Another gift, perhaps. Or perhaps, the prize would be Ladybug herself - unmasked.</p><p>The latter seems unlikely, but the prospect is all the encouragement he needs to solve this mystery as quickly as possible. </p><p>Determinedly, Adrien approaches the artist, hoping that the man will be able to provide the next clue. "Excuse me, sir? How much for the painting you're working on?"</p><p>The artist looks up at him, taking note of his mask and hoodie with a smile. "This one's already been paid for," he says.</p><p>Adrien's face falls. He must have been wrong. "Oh, never mi-"</p><p>"Actually, I believe it's for you," the man says, plucking the sheet off the easel and placing it in a little bag before handing it to him. "The young lady who bought it told me someone looking like you would be passing by.  She also told me to tell you that ‘the parachute will point you in the right direction.’" </p><p>Adrien accepts the painting with a smile. "Is that right?"</p><p>"Oh, yes. She was very specific. Anyway, you lovebirds have fun. I hope you catch up with your girlfriend soon," the artist says, giving him a cheerful wave before picking up a fresh sheet of watercolor paper and resuming his work. </p><p>Adrien turns away, grateful for the mask and its ability to hide the blush now blooming across his cheeks. That man had referred to Ladybug as his girlfriend.</p><p>He hadn't corrected him. In all honesty, it’s not like the idea hadn’t crossed his mind before (and not just because of Plagg’s teasing). But hearing it said by a total stranger sends a sensation of warmth blooming in his chest.</p><p>With renewed energy, Adrien bounds up the steps two at a time, clutching the bag containing his watercolor in one hand. He's relieved to see the blue arrows make another appearance, assuring him that he's on the right track. He pauses at one point when he sees one of the arrows overlaid with birdseed. Adrien laughs at the crowd of pigeons that are feeding on his clue.</p><p>The arrow seems to be pointing at a group of children playing on a grassy knoll just off the main path. Adrien watches, spellbound, as they unfurl a large multicolored parachute. The fabric billows upward as they lift their hands into the air, just barely holding on to the edges. Giggles and shrieks of delight fill the air as they take turns running underneath from one side to the other before the parachute falls to the ground.</p><p>"Monsieur Chat? It's your turn!"</p><p>Adrien looks down to see a young girl tugging at his free hand, inviting him to join them. "I wish I could, but I'm much too big to play," he says apologetically. </p><p>The girl shakes her head, insistent. "But Mademoiselle Ladybug said that you won't get your treasure if you don't take your turn. Besides, you are so tall, you can make the parachute go higher than if it's only us!"</p><p>"Well, if you're sure," he replies, a smile tugging at his lips. If this kid is acting on Ladybug’s instructions, who is he to say no?</p><p>He strides over to the group, carefully laying the bag containing his painting on the ground as he joins the cluster of children gathered around the parachute. Grinning, he grabs hold of one end of the fabric. </p><p>"Ready?” he calls. “One, two, three!"</p><p>The parachute flies up into the air and Adrien runs underneath, exhilarated. Beneath the shadow of the canopy, he pauses to look up, admiring how the swathes of fabric are illuminated by the spring sunshine. </p><p>“Hurry, Monsieur Chat! You don’t want to be caught underneath when it falls!”</p><p>The little girl’s voice brings Adrien back to reality, and he scurries to the other side of the parachute with a laugh. He wonders if this is a game he could have played had he been permitted to attend school as a child. <em>Better late than never</em>, he supposes.</p><p>The parachute flutters to the grass, affording him the opportunity to see a large blue arrow stitched onto the fabric, pointing in the direction of the Basilica. <em>This woman is incredible</em>, Adrien thinks in awe. Picking up his bag, he thanks the children for letting him participate in their game, and continues on his way. </p><p>Adrien picks up the pace, bounding up the steps in his excitement to reach his lady. Indeed, the closer he gets to the top, the more convinced he becomes that he's falling in love with her. Somehow, Ladybug had known that this quirky, convoluted little adventure was exactly what he needed to lift him out of the funk he's been in lately. The amount of preparation she must have put into today is far beyond anything they've done together...and she'd done it just for him. Adrien's heart swells at the thought, and for a moment he has to pause, simply overcome with joy and admiration of her kindness. </p><p><em>When I see her</em>, Adrien decides, <em>I’m going to tell her who I am</em>.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Marinette’s heart skips a beat as she spies Chat Noir bounding up the steps toward the Sacré-Coeur. She wonders if it has anything to do with the picture, or if he's just really excited to see where she takes him next. <em>Is he hoping to find me there?</em> she wonders, blushing at the thought.</p><p>She’s been following his movements as well as she can from a distance, and has been pleased to find that it looks like he’s having fun. <em>Good</em>. A wistful smile plays at her lips as she recalls seeing the little girl she'd spoken to tug at his sleeve and convince him to join in their game; how, despite his initial surprise, he had thrown himself into the activity with the same enthusiasm he does for everything. Though he had not been visible from underneath the parachute, she can only picture the mirthful expression on his face as he played along. The image tugs at her heartstrings and, not for the first time, part of her wishes she’d changed her mind and followed him up there.</p><p>(Though she won’t admit it, seeing Chat play with these children had conjured visions of other things as well, like a country house with three children and a hamster -  exactly the kinds of things she had once pictured happening with Adrien Agreste, but now with a different blond in mind.)</p><p>Marinette takes a deep breath, reminding herself to stay focused. She looks down at the umbrella by her feet, and hopes that Chat Noir remembered to bring some change with him.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>When Adrien finally arrives at the top of the steps, Ladybug is nowhere to be found. Confused, he looks around for a sign that she could be nearby. The blue arrows have all but disappeared - not that he would be able to see them, with all the tourists milling about. The only thing that appears to stand out from the crowd is a busker standing on a platform. The man is painted gold and stands still, a living statue. </p><p>Adrien peers at the busker, wondering if he's part of Ladybug's grand plan. He notices that the man's finger is extended in a pointing gesture, but there is nothing in his facial expression that suggests he is there to help. Curious, Adrien turns to see what the living statue could be pointing at, spotting a row of coin-operated binoculars on the observation area one level up.</p><p>He looks back at the busker - who winks at him. </p><p>
  <em>Bingo. </em>
</p><p>Adrien nods in thanks, knowing exactly what to do next. (Oblivious though we know he can be, his current circumstances make him a bit more receptive to blatant hints than is typically the case.)</p><p>Adrien races up to an unoccupied viewscope. He digs through his pocket, searching for the change Ladybug had instructed him to bring, and puts the coin in the slot. Adrien brings his eye to the viewfinder, unsure of what he should be looking for. He sees the group of kids with the parachute, the street artist, the carousel…</p><p>...and Ladybug, standing by Naruto, waving at him with an umbrella. His umbrella.</p><p>Surprise quickly morphs into dismay when he sees her lean the item against the seat of his scooter...and turn to walk away. </p><p>
  <em>No. No, no, no, no, no!</em>
</p><p>"Hey!" he shouts. Desperate to catch her, Adrien flies down the steps in a sprint. It's a quicker journey than the way up, but at more than 200 steps, he has quite a ways to go. Pigeons and tourists alike scatter as he barrels down the path back toward the carousel like a black blur. </p><p>He's a wheezing, gasping mess by the time he makes it back...and of course, by then, she's gone. Cursing, Adrien yanks off his hood. He takes out his phone and texts her in frustration. </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>(16:29) Why didn't you stay???</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>The response is immediate, but no less annoyingly cryptic.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>(16:29) Have another look at your painting.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Blowing out a breath, Adrien pulls the watercolor out of the bag. He doesn't notice anything unusual...until he flips the paper over and sees a picture taped to the back. </p><p>It's a black and white photo of Ladybug - the kind he's seen in The Collector's album, taken at the métro station photo booths they once used to trade notes. She's wearing her mask as usual, and the expression on her face makes her look like a modern day Zorro. </p><p>But what's most interesting is the text on the sign she's holding up.</p><p>
  <em>Do you want to know who I am? </em>
</p><p>His eyes widen. This photo, he realizes, isn’t just another clue in his treasure hunt. It’s a promise. </p><p>The prize he had been hoping for is actually within reach. </p><p>Adrien quickly taps out a reply.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>(16:30) Where and when?</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>(16:31) Café Le 21e. Monday, 16:00.</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>(16:31) See you then.</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Monday. That's three days from now. Enough time for him to sort out his schedule so that he can be there.</p><p>Hopefully, it will also be enough time to figure out how to confess his feelings to the girl of his dreams.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Marinette waits until she sees Chat Noir zoom off on his scooter before emerging from her hiding spot. She sighs, relieved that things appear to have gone smoothly. </p><p>Peeling off her mask, Marinette smooths her hair and starts to make her way home. The hard part is over, right? Chat Noir has his umbrella, and his invitation. If he changes his mind and doesn't show, it's no big deal. They can still be friends, or even partners. And anyway, if he doesn't want to reveal his identity, that's okay too. Just because she is willing to share, it doesn't mean she's expecting the same from him.</p><p>A deeper concern forms in Marinette's mind as she realizes that she can’t deny the emotions she’d experienced as she watched him from a distance. Amusement, affection - those are a given. But she’d felt something even stronger than that, as well. As she’d followed his descent from the safety of her hiding spot, the sight of the determined, almost desperate expression on his face had stirred something inside her. </p><p>Something a bit like love. </p><p>It scares her to think that this could be true, especially since - aside from the vague almost-kiss they’d experienced in the rain - she has no clear sense of what his own feelings may be. Even if he had looked anxious to catch up with her, it could have been for completely different reasons. <em>I could just be projecting</em>, Marinette concedes, thinking back to her mortifying ride on the haunted train just the day before. </p><p>(Still, the lingering embarrassment does nothing to stop her neck from tingling at the memory of Chat Noir’s touch.) </p><p>Whatever his feelings might be, however, it is the growing awareness of her own that now threatens to send Marinette into a spiral as she considers the ramifications of her impulsive invitation. Suddenly, the thought of Chat Noir not showing up isn’t what worries her.  What worries her is what she'll do if he actually does decide to come, after all. </p><p>
  <em>What in the world are you thinking? You can’t very well introduce yourself and confess your feelings to the man in the same breath. “Nice to meet you, Nino. My name’s Marinette. By the way, I think I’m falling for you.”</em>
</p><p>Marinette pales. </p><p>
  <em>Oh my God. What have I done?</em>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. May 21</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks as always to dealan, merciki, and serendipitousReckonings for beta reading and cheerleading &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The sun shines down on Rue Gotlib as Marinette wipes down one of the tables lining the sidewalk outside <em>Café Le 21e</em>. To the casual observer, she is as cheery as the weather, a picture of calm as she moves from table to table with her worn kitchen towel, greeting each person she encounters with a bright smile and a friendly hello.</p>
<p>Inside, she’s on nuclear alert - and has been since the moment her shift began. Her smile is but a mask, a ploy to hide the spiral of paranoia that intensifies with each person she sees. Every shadow of a human that passes sends her into overdrive with the suspicion that they could be the person she is both thrilled and terrified to see.</p>
<p>(Three days ago, that person would probably have been Adrien Agreste. But today is the day she is going to meet with Chat Noir. For real.)</p>
<p>Marinette takes a deep breath, trying desperately to calm the jitters that have plagued her since she left the Montmartre carousel all of three days ago. A clock on the corner reminds her of the time - 15:39 - and she exhales, noting with relief that Chat Noir isn’t due to arrive just yet.</p>
<p><em>Everything is going to be fine. Absolutely fine</em>, she tells herself with as much confidence as she can gather. She smooths her apron for the fiftieth time as she heads back into the cafe, stopping to check her hair in the mirror above the bar. All the while, she repeats her mantra on loop. <em>Absolutely fine.</em></p>
<p>A concerned voice jolts her back to reality. “You okay?” Tikki asks.</p>
<p>So much for being the picture of calm. “Yeah, I'm...absolutely fine!” Marinette says brightly. “There might be someone stopping by later, and I was just checking...the time.” <em>Just twenty minutes to go.</em></p>
<p>Her boss nods. “And would this someone be the reason you’ve been so distracted lately?” she asks. Her eyes seem to sparkle as she speaks, and the knowing smile she sends Marinette’s way makes her blush all the way to her ears.</p>
<p>“Maybe.”</p>
<p>“I see. And may I ask what this someone's name is?”</p>
<p>“Nino!”</p>
<p>Marinette's head whips up in surprise at the sound of the name. <em>Oh my God, he's already here?!</em></p>
<p>She looks in the direction of the door, expecting a tall blond, but he’s nowhere to be found. Instead, she sees a young man with olive skin and glasses approaching Alya - and kissing her soundly on the lips.</p>
<p><em>Oh</em>.</p>
<p>Alya brings the man over. “Sorry for the PDA,” she says with an utterly unapologetic grin. “This is Nino. We um, started seeing each other recently. He decided to pop by and say hello.” </p>
<p>Marinette swallows her disappointment. “Hey Nino,” she greets, smiling brightly as she can manage.</p>
<p>“Hey. Marinette, right? Alya's told me all about you,” he says cheerfully. Nino turns back to give her friend a peck on the cheek. “I can't actually stay, but I'm glad I got to say hi and meet your friend. See you tonight?”</p>
<p>“For sure,” Alya says with a flirtatious wave. </p>
<p>“He seems nice,” Marinette comments as they watch <em>other-Nino</em> leave. She kicks herself for getting excited over nothing. </p>
<p>(Well, not <em>nothing</em>. But that was very clearly not the Nino she had been hoping to see.)</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Alya says dreamily. She looks over, seeming to notice the consternation painted on Marinette’s face. “Hey, are you okay?” </p>
<p>Marinette straightens, forcing herself to smile. “Me? Of course! I'm absolutely fine.”</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Just around the corner, Adrien is trying to tell himself the exact same thing.</p>
<p>(He’s having about as much success as she is.)</p>
<p>The time is now 15:47. Adrien paces in front of his bedroom mirror, checking his appearance for the tenth occasion in as many minutes. He notes with relief that he still has time before he really needs to get moving. It’s a good thing <em>Café</em> <em>Le 21e</em> is so close, or all this fussing would totally make him late for his date with Ladybug. </p>
<p>No, not a date. It's just a meeting between partners….friends...maybe more.</p>
<p>(He has no idea what to expect, to be honest.)</p>
<p>Adrien groans, his mind racing as he attempts to smooth out a wrinkle on his white collared shirt. <em>Should have gone with the hoodie. Actually, no. The whole point is to meet as our civilian selves, remember? But then again, Ladybug did make it. If you don't wear it, will she be insulted? Just make up your mind, Agreste! You're running out of time.</em></p>
<p>Adrien's indecision on something as simple as his choice of shirt just seems to serve as yet another reminder about his lack of...actually, he can’t even articulate what he lacks at this point. All he knows is that it’s not enough. He’s supposed to be a supermodel, for fuck’s sake. He works at a literal sex shop. This is not the behavior of someone who purports to ooze sex appeal. </p>
<p>Not that he’s been thinking about sex.</p>
<p>(Okay, maybe a little.)</p>
<p>He lets out a little sigh at his feelings of ineptitude. The truth is that, for all that he has been pursued, he’s never really dated. People tend to think he's living it up as an independent bachelor - something that Adrien hasn't bothered to correct, as it has provided an excellent cover for his work outside the fashion industry. As it happens, however, working three jobs has also made it rather difficult to meet new people...especially when there are so many secrets to be concealed. All that said, it's not like he'd had much of a dating life before he moved out. He had simply been too busy, and the few setups proposed by his father or Nathalie had been more about publicity for the brand than any real connection. On the rare occasions he'd agreed to go on a date, he'd never quite been able to escape the feeling that he was just putting on another performance for the cameras. </p>
<p>For a brief moment, Adrien wonders if this is all just some silly infatuation with the first girl (aside from Chloe, whom he has known since he was five) that he’s really been able to talk to. That moment, however, passes quickly. It doesn’t feel right to doubt his feelings; Adrien knows that this is different, that this isn’t just another performance. Amusing theatrics aside, he has not, in fact, been performing at all. Despite the mask - or perhaps because of it - he’s actually been more himself around Ladybug than he’s ever been around anyone else. </p>
<p>Nonetheless, while on balance Adrien is excited by the prospect of revealing their identities, he would be lying if he didn't admit to feeling anxious, as well. Indeed, those three days since his adventure at Montmartre have come and gone entirely too quickly for Adrien’s liking, and now he is in a bit of panic. </p>
<p><em>You're just going to meet Ladybug, </em>he tries reminding himself.<em> She's the same person she's always been...just, without the mask. </em></p>
<p>Neither of them, he realizes, will have a mask to hide behind. </p>
<p>Another wave of insecurity washes over him at the thought. It's an annoyingly familiar feeling - the product of many an Agreste family dinner - but while the nagging voice in his head sounds a lot like his father's, the criticisms are new.</p>
<p>
  <em>She can't possibly want you for who you are. Money, fame...that's more likely. She's no different from the others.</em>
</p>
<p>Adrien shakes his head as he realizes this accusation has no rational basis. Had she known who he really was, the argument might hold water. But Ladybug is different. She's only ever known him as Chat Noir, masked do-gooder. </p>
<p>A sudden breeze rushes in through his bedroom window, catching on the watercolor painting he has propped up against the lamp on his nightstand and sending the paper fluttering onto the floor. Pausing his inner debate, Adrien strides over to pick it up and put it in its correct place.</p>
<p>He gazes for a moment at the black cat in the picture. Its yellow-green eyes stare back at him, full of curiosity as it asks in silent question, <em>"What are you waiting for?"</em> </p>
<p>Adrien blows out a breath. 15:57. He really needs to get going. </p>
<p>He swiftly descends from his apartment and makes his way toward the café, but when he spots a man selling flowers in the arcade of the Place des Vosges, he can't help but make one last pit stop. Adrien weighs his options, torn between the more romantic choice of red or the safer, more friendly yellow. </p>
<p>The flower seller seems to pick up on his indecision. "Not sure how to tell your friend how you feel?"</p>
<p>Adrien blushes. "Something like that," he admits.</p>
<p>The man nods in understanding, then turns to pluck a bloom from the display. "Here," he says, offering a yellow rose stained with red at the edges. "If you want to show your friend that you're interested in more, this should tell them everything."</p>
<p>Adrien accepts the rose gratefully. But when he pulls his wallet out to pay, the flower seller refuses. </p>
<p>"I've got a good feeling about you two," he says with twinkling eyes. "You can pay me when you come back to purchase a full bouquet."</p>
<p>Adrien grins at the encouragement. "Thank you, sir. I'll definitely be back."</p>
<p>Rose in hand, he conveys one last look of thanks for the flower seller, and determinedly strides toward <em>Le 21e</em>.</p>
<p>
  <em>Let's do this.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>The time is now 16:03, and Chat Noir is officially late.</p>
<p>Marinette fills a row of sugar canisters with care, grateful for the distraction Tikki has provided in assigning her this task. Unfortunately, while it <em>does </em>stop her from watching the door, it <em>doesn't </em>stop her from imagining what reason Chat has for being late.</p>
<p>In her mind, there can only be two possibilities. </p>
<p>Option 1: <em>Chat got the day wrong (why did she say Monday, but not the date??). She will text him once she can sneak off to check her phone. He'll apologize for the misunderstanding, and they will agree upon a mutually convenient date and time.</em></p>
<p>Option 2: <em>Chat was on his way, but his scooter got stolen, so he had to take the métro. But then there was a sudden malfunction because a supervillain showed up and took out the main power in the Paris métro system. Chat managed to break out of the train car and hopped out, just narrowly avoiding the third rail, and stumbled through the dark to find the breaker box, but was accosted by previously mentioned supervillain, kidnapped, and taken to the villain's lair, which actually happens to be a secret basement in his father's house. He is horrified to discover that his father/supervillain has been keeping his mother in stasis as he devises a plan to bring her back to life, and that the "family business" Chat has been trying to quit is actually a front for an underground arms dealing network. The news of his betrayal has brought Chat to the brink of insanity, and OH GOD SHE NEEDS TO LEAVE IMMEDIATELY SO THAT SHE CAN SAVE HIM BEFORE HE DOES SOMETHING HORRIBLE LIKE TRIGGER THE APOCALYPSE OR-</em></p>
<p>"Marinette? Marinette!"</p>
<p>Alya's voice cuts into the moment, and Marinette shakes herself back to reality. "Sorry, what?"</p>
<p>"You're not going to believe who just walked in."</p>
<p>Marinette perks up. "Who?"</p>
<p>Alya grins and whispers, "Adrien Agreste."</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Adrien enters the café, a little flustered knowing that he’s late for once (or twice, but who's counting?). Still, there isn't anyone who looks like Ladybug waiting for him by the door, so at least he knows he’s safe.</p>
<p>A red headed waitress approaches him. “I’ll be right with you,” she says, extending her arm with a flourish. “Feel free to sit where you like.”</p>
<p>Adrien looks around, surprised he hasn’t been in this café before. A couple meters away, there's a booth situated below a glass display window announcing the daily specials. It has a good view of the entrance.</p>
<p>Breathing deeply, he walks over to take a seat.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Marinette stifles a groan as she watches Adrien seat himself at a nearby booth. The last thing she needs is the presence of <em>another </em>man she's crushed on to make an appearance in her café on the day she's supposed to meet Chat Noir. The timing couldn't be worse. The saving grace is that he is seated in Alya's section, so there won't be any potential for an awkward interaction.</p>
<p>Then, she notices that he's alone.</p>
<p>And he's got...a rose?</p>
<p><em>Well, that's just great</em>, she grumbles silently. He must be here to meet someone, too. And from the way he's staring intently at the door, that person is due to arrive any moment now. </p>
<p>Unless…</p>
<p>Marinette gulps.</p>
<p><em>Oh. No</em>.</p>
<p>Could it be that Chat Noir is Adrien Agreste?</p>
<p>Adrien Agreste. <em>The </em>Adrien Agreste. The one who has become a fixture at her parents' bakery. The Adrien who hasn’t exchanged more than a hundred words with her in the months he has been coming into the bakery. </p>
<p><em>No</em>, she reminds herself. <em>It's not possible</em>. Chat’s real name, after all, isn’t Adrien. It’s Nino. </p>
<p>Still, there’s something in the way he’s watching the door that sparks her curiosity. At the very least, she figures she can distract herself from the anxiety of waiting for Chat Noir by seeing what happens with whomever Adrien is planning to meet.</p>
<p>He hasn't noticed her, which is a relief. Marinette takes a circuitous route toward the display window above the booth where Adrien is seated. She goes under the guise of having to update the specials, but doing so also grants her a perfect vantage point from which to spy on him.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Adrien watches the door like a hawk. Despite his own tardiness, he's not surprised to find that Ladybug is late. As he waits, the waitress who had greeted him comes by and asks if she can get him anything. For some reason, she’s smiling like the cat who got the canary.</p>
<p>“A coffee, please,” he says, giving her a polite smile in return. </p>
<p>He doesn't know why he asks for coffee. He doesn't even really like the stuff. The cup arrives quickly, but he's not quite sure what to do with it. He reaches for a sugar packet and rips it open, spilling some of the granules onto the tabletop. He's nervous again, he realizes, pouring the remaining contents of the sugar packet into his drink. </p>
<p>Adrien stirs the teaspoon absently as he stares at the doorway, willing Ladybug to make her presence known. </p>
<p>
  <em>Unless...unless she's already here? </em>
</p>
<p>He glances around, observing the patrons seated around him. Then, he reaches into his pocket.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Looking down over his shoulder, Marinette sucks in a breath when Adrien pulls a photograph out of his jacket.</p>
<p>Not just any photograph. The one she'd left for him at Montmartre. </p>
<p>The confirmation strikes her like a bullet to the heart.</p>
<p>
  <em>Adrien Agreste is Chat Noir. </em>
</p>
<p>A thousand moments replay in Marinette's mind. Every interaction suddenly takes on a new meaning.</p>
<p>Adrien Agreste had caught her when she fell from the photo booth.</p>
<p>Adrien Agreste had annoyed her for weeks with an endless stream of cat puns.</p>
<p>Adrien Agreste had helped her snoop through a stranger's apartment. </p>
<p>Adrien Agreste had caressed her neck in the darkened tunnel of a funfair train ride.</p>
<p>Then, another thought strikes like lightning: <em>if Adrien is Chat, then Chat is Adrien</em>. </p>
<p>Chat Noir had come in every day that she had been in the bakery and wished her a good morning, even if she could barely whisper a reply.</p>
<p>Chat Noir had befriended her parents. </p>
<p>Chat Noir had been the talk of the neighborhood - not just for his looks or fame, but for his extraordinary kindness. </p>
<p>Her infatuation with Adrien is nothing compared to what she feels for Chat Noir. But there is no need to compare, as all their qualities, for good or bad, are embodied by the same person.</p>
<p>
  <em>Oh my god. I'm in love with Adrien Agreste. </em>
</p>
<p>Panicked, Marinette gapes at him from the other side of the glass. </p>
<p>
  <em>And he is about to figure out who I am.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Adrien registers a vague squeaking sound, and realizes there is someone standing behind him. Slowly, he turns to see a young woman furiously scribbling the words <em>Menu du Jour</em> with a paint marker on the glass display board above his table. He watches as she writes, impressed at her ability to form the letters in reverse so that they are legible on the other side of the glass. <em>It's a special talent</em>, he thinks with a smile. <em>She’s an artist</em>.</p>
<p>Then, another thought: <em>Wait. That’s Marinette.</em></p>
<p>He smiles softly at the sight of her. <em>Of course</em>, he thinks, remembering how her parents had mentioned that she works here. He’s relieved that - for once - she isn’t just running off at the sight of him, even if it’s only because she’s got a job to do. It’s probably the longest they’ve spent in the same room together without something disastrous happening. </p>
<p>Adrien gives a tiny, timid wave that she doesn't seem to notice, focused as she is on her task. Her eyes slip momentarily in his direction, but rather than acknowledge this - he doesn't want to make her feel awkward with all the staring he's doing - Adrien pretends to look past her and examine the interior of the café itself. It seems like a charming place, and he resolves to come back on another day when he can focus on his meal and not on the prospect of meeting Ladybug.</p>
<p>Adrien's gaze wanders, but somehow he keeps finding himself drawn back to looking at Marinette. He wonders if there is something he can say to break the ice so that they can have their first actual conversation in spite of dancing in the other's orbit for the past couple of months. Perhaps he could ask her about the specials she is writing on the display? <em>No, too boring.</em> Maybe he could compliment her on what she's wearing. <em>No, too personal</em>.</p>
<p>And yet, now that he has the opportunity to study her more closely, there is something else about her that seems even more familiar.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>He won't stop looking at me. Why won't he stop looking at me?</em>
</p>
<p>Marinette feels like she is withering under his scrutiny - not that he's looking at her with anything resembling a critical eye. If anything, he seems...curious. Tentative, even - like he wants to strike up a conversation, but doesn't know how. She can relate, given the general paralysis she's found herself suffering every time she's seen him at the bakery. </p>
<p>It's actually a bit of a shame. She had almost reached the point where she was ready to behave like a functioning adult in his presence. But then this had to happen, and now she’s back to spiraling.</p>
<p><em>Just my luck</em>, she thinks with a sigh. <em>Now what am I going to do?</em></p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>It's as if Marinette knows Adrien's internal monologue is about her, because she lets out what sounds like a sigh of exasperation as she wipes a bead of sweat from her forehead. He hopes that he isn't the source of her frustration. </p>
<p>But then, as she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, something catches his eye.</p>
<p>It's her earring - a little red circle dotted with black spots. </p>
<p>Like a Ladybug. </p>
<p>
  <em>Oh. Shit.</em>
</p>
<p>Unconsciously, he grasps at the photo on the table. He turns back to study it more carefully.</p>
<p>His eyes widen as the final puzzle piece clicks into place, revealing a stunning picture.</p>
<p>
  <em>Oh my God. It's her. </em>
</p>
<p>All the stories, the gushing praise...it was always her.</p>
<p>
  <em>Ladybug is Marinette. </em>
</p>
<p>Sweet, reserved, selfless Marinette. The woman who had always intrigued him, even as he was falling in love with Ladybug. They’ve been the same person all along.</p>
<p><em>It all makes perfect sense</em>, he thinks with a chuckle. <em>The woman I love has been right in front of me this whole time, and I didn’t even see it. </em></p>
<p>
  <em>But I see it now.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Marinette sees him staring at the photo, and she knows. He <em>knows</em>.</p>
<p>Butterflies stampede in her stomach. She narrates his movements in her mind like Adrien is the lead in a romantic film, and she, the fated love interest:</p>
<p>
  <em>He understands everything now. He's going to put the photograph down. Then, he's going to trace his finger along the rim of his coffee cup, swiping up the sugar crystals. Then, slowly, he will turn around, and say-</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>"Hello?"</p>
<p>Marinette doesn't respond, but remains focused on the task of writing on the glass.</p>
<p>Puzzled, Adrien tries again - more assertively, this time. He taps at the glass to get her attention. "Marinette, right? I don't know if we ever met properly, actually. I'm Adrien."</p>
<p>He extends a hand to shake hers. Marinette stares at it dumbly, and the smile on Adrien's face falters. <em>You idiot. You're acting as if you haven't been working together for months now!</em> </p>
<p>Sheepishly, he whips his hand back, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry. That was silly of me. I mean, obviously we already know each other." Adrien slowly holds up the photo for her to see. "Because...well...this is you, isn't it?" He lowers his voice to a whisper. "You're her. You're Ladybug." </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>This is Marinette's chance. Adrien - Chat Noir - has just given her the perfect opportunity to confirm his suspicions and reveal her true identity. A word, a nod, would be all that's necessary to make that next step.</p>
<p>(If only she were less frightened. Perhaps the extra clarity of thought would enable her to note the hopefulness in the tone of Adrien's voice, and the light blush on his cheeks accompanying the realization that he, for the first time, he is truly seeing the face of the woman he has come to see as his partner and friend. She would see how his eyes are lit up as he smiles, amused and excited by the discovery that she's someone he's known all along. Perhaps she would realize that all she needs to do is say the word, and he will devote every last second of the rest of his life to making her as happy as she has made him over the past few weeks.</p>
<p>But alas, our dear Marinette is too terrified of him rejecting her to notice any of these things.) </p>
<p>Instead, she lies.</p>
<p>Well, not lie, exactly. She never says the words "that's not me" or "sorry, you have the wrong person." In fact, she doesn't say a word. She just shrugs apologetically and shakes her head, feigning complete ignorance of what Adrien is talking about, and shuffles off toward the kitchen before he can push back on her denial.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Adrien is bewildered.</p>
<p>Now that he has seen the similarities, he can't <em>unsee</em> them. Marinette is Ladybug, there's absolutely no doubt about it. So why is she pretending she's not?</p>
<p>Perhaps it’s because she doesn't want the other patrons to know. But if that were the case, why meet at the café? </p>
<p>Maybe she was nervous about meeting him somewhere private and wanted a public setting in case Adrien turned out to be a creep? He doesn't feel good about that theory, but he tries to consider things from her perspective and concedes that he can't blame her for feeling cautious...even if they have already been alone together more times than he can count. </p>
<p><em>What if it's me? What if I'm the problem?</em> That nagging feeling - the one that sounds a lot like his father - rushes back with a vengeance, and for a moment he feels sick. </p>
<p>Still, Adrien holds onto the hope that he can salvage things with Marinette. He takes a breath and tries again. As he ponders the situation, a whole host of things suddenly start making sense. Tom and Sabine had always been effusive in their praise of their daughter, and knowing what she has accomplished as Ladybug, he understands that they hadn't been exaggerating. He's also aware of how much of a presence her parents are in the neighborhood, so it would stand to reason that Marinette wouldn't want to bring too much attention to what they were doing. </p>
<p>
  <em>She’s probably just surprised to find out that I’m someone she already knows, even if only superficially. But she’s still Ladybug, and I’m still Chat Noir. She just needs to remember that.</em>
</p>
<p>He perks up. That, at least, is something he can fix. He just has to convince her to let him. </p>
<p>Adrien steels himself, determined to find a better way to approach her. Whatever happens, he’s not going to let this opportunity pass him by. </p>
<p>Of course, it’s at this moment that his phone pings with an incoming text. Adrien curses quietly when he sees who it’s from. Nathalie. He’s being summoned.</p>
<p>
  <em>Impeccable timing, as always.</em>
</p>
<p>Sighing, Adrien flags down the waitress for his bill. When she approaches, he lifts the rose and extends it to her.</p>
<p>“Could you give this to Marinette, please? I think I may have done something to make her feel uncomfortable. But hopefully she'll accept this as an apology.”</p>
<p>The waitress seems a bit confused by his request, but she accepts the flower. Adrien rises from his seat, leaving the money for his coffee on the table. He sneaks one last glance in the direction of the kitchen, where he suspects Marinette is still hiding. </p>
<p>He takes one more breath, trying not to be too disappointed in how this reveal has played out. <em>You’re not giving up</em>, he reminds himself. <em>She knows who you are without the mask. You just need to give her a little time to let her process.</em></p>
<p>In the meantime, Adrien will need his own mask - metaphorically speaking, of course - as he prepares to face this next challenge. He walks out the door and heads to his father’s house.  </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Marinette releases a breath as she watches Adrien leave, but relief is quickly overcome by another set of feelings altogether. </p>
<p>Regret. Guilt. Longing.</p>
<p>Alya appears next to her. “Hey, there. You okay? You look a little pale.” </p>
<p>She straightens, smiling as brightly as she can. “Yeah, I'm fine,” she insists. “Just a little tired for some reason.” </p>
<p>“Well I have something from Monsieur Agreste,” she sing-songs, waving the rose in her face. “Looks like someone has a crush.”</p>
<p>Marinette gapes at her co-worker. “What??”</p>
<p>Alya laughs. “Not me, silly...you! He asked me to give this to <em>you</em>. Said he was sorry for making you uncomfortable.” She suddenly frowns. “What does that even mean, anyway? Did he say something inappropriate to you?” </p>
<p>Marinette shakes her head furiously. “No, no. He just...sat there with his coffee.”</p>
<p>She shrugs in reply. “Well whatever happened, he seemed to feel bad about bothering you. You'll forgive him though, right?” Alya is joking, of course, but her attempt at humor only makes Marinette feel worse. (Unfortunately, there is no way to explain this without giving away the truth of their connection.)</p>
<p>Marinette smiles weakly at her friend and takes the rose. She wishes the ground would swallow her whole. </p>
<p>All the while, one question lingers. <em>How am I ever going to face him after this?</em></p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>If you've seen the movie, you saw it coming. Either way, I'm sorry. But don't worry, we're coming on the end...just one last chapter (and an epilogue) to go!</p>
<p>Feedback always appreciated - just be gentle. Thanks for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. May 23</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>We have finally reached the end! Many thanks to those who have read/rec'd/commented. </p><p>And of course, big love and thanks to my beta/pre-readers who have been so wonderfully supportive: dealan, merciki, rosegardeninwinter, and serendipitousReckonings, you are beautiful and talented souls and I love you!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>An uncharacteristically thick blanket of mist settles over the 4th arrondissement on this dreary May morning. Marinette drifts from table to table as if an extension of the fog, barely able to muster a smile as she waits on a table of English tourists, who joke about having brought their weather to town with them on holiday. She politely avoids all small talk, preferring to busy herself with the task of wiping down tables that have yet to be occupied.</p><p>(Her gloomy countenance does not, of course, go unnoticed.)</p><p>“Are you doing all right?”</p><p>Marinette looks up to see Tikki, the concern painted on her face an unusual contrast to her typically serene expression. “Is everything all right?” she asks again, placing a slight hand on the Marinette’s shoulder. “I couldn’t help but notice you arrived early today, and you didn’t even celebrate.”</p><p>Our young heroine smiles wanly. “I’m fine. I’m a little tired, but I’ll be all right.”</p><p>Tikki tips her head, unconvinced. “You look like you haven’t slept in ages.”</p><p>(This observation is not inaccurate. Despite Marinette’s best efforts, sleep has generally proven to be elusive over the past 42 hours and 36 minutes. Not that she’s been counting.)</p><p>“It hasn’t been a great couple of days,” she admits, but finds herself unable to elaborate further. No matter how wonderful Tikki is, the last thing she needs is to have a breakdown in front of her boss.</p><p>“Sounds to me like you could use a day off,” Tikki observes. </p><p>Melancholy momentarily gives way to surprise. “You’re sending me home?” she asks.</p><p>“Yes,” Tikki replies, her voice gentle but firm. “You weren’t feeling well yesterday, either, were you?”</p><p>Marinette looks away, chagrined as she recalls having spent less time working and more time staring forlornly at Mylène and Ivan while they chatted at the bar. On any other day, she would have been silently crowing over yet another successful mission. The sight of the pair, however, had only reminded her of Chat Noir.</p><p>
  <em>No, not Chat Noir. Adrien.</em>
</p><p>The ball of guilt that has been roiling in her gut for nearly two days sends a new wave of sadness washing over her. Tears prick at the backs of Marinette’s eyes as she breathes in, willing herself to stay in control. “No, I suppose I wasn’t,” she says softly.</p><p>“That settles it, then,” Tikki says. “I want you to go home and rest. There’s clearly no breakfast rush to worry about; this fog seems to be keeping most people in their beds, and by the time they come out, Alya will be here. Just...take care of yourself, all right? You’ve been working yourself ragged, don't think I haven't noticed. You need a break.”</p><p>Marinette nods weakly in thanks, unable to put up a fight. Slowly, she gathers her things and heads out the door, making her way through the haze back to her apartment. She doesn't bother passing by the bakery to say hello; even that small exchange with Tikki had taken a lot out of her, and she can't really stomach the idea of talking to anyone else. Besides, her mother would probably get the whole story out of her, and that would be even worse.</p><p>She sighs with relief when she finally reaches the cocoon of her flat, free from the weight of concerned stares or questions about her well being.</p><p>Marinette tosses her keys on the side table and heads to her room, flopping face down onto her bed. Fatigued though she may be, she knows that real rest is unlikely in the face of the emotions that have been holding her captive. </p><p>Guilt. Confusion. Yearning. Loneliness.</p><p>(The unfortunate reality is that, in her distressed state, she is reverting back to her old habits, the ones from the pre-Ladybug days. The habits that involve avoidance of any substantive engagement, let alone talk, about her feelings or her future.</p><p>That said, it should be no surprise that she has made no effort to contact Chat Noir. Though, in her defense, neither has he.)</p><p>It’s the loneliness that hits the hardest. Marinette is no stranger to solitude; it was her old companion for most of childhood as she struggled to come out of her shell. But in this period of radio silence with Chat Noir, she's been experiencing a loneliness of a completely different sort. The easy rapport they've built in the course of a few weeks has become a foundation she never realized she needed; without his jokes and smiles, his chaotic energy and easygoing calm, she suddenly feels off balance.</p><p>It's so unfair something as small as one's identity would be enough to rip that foundation away.</p><p>(It doesn't have to be that way, of course. But let the girl wallow just a moment longer; she’ll be done soon.) </p><p>She closes her eyes and allows her exhaustion to carry her into a fitful sleep.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Back on Rue Gotlib, the fog is slowly lifting. </p><p>Adrien shuffles through the door of <em>Le 21e</em>, hoping that this time, he’ll actually be able to catch Ladybug at work. He hopes that giving her a day to process has been enough, and that by reaching out they can find a way to make things work.</p><p>Whatever happens, he’s not ready to let her go. </p><p>His eyes dart around the crowded café in search of her, but instead land on the red-headed waitress who had served him coffee two days ago. </p><p>She’s not looking nearly as friendly as she had when they’d first met. “May I help you, Monsieur Agreste?” she asks, suspicion clouding her features.</p><p>Adrien rubs the back of his neck nervously. “Um. I was...I was wondering if La- I mean, if Marinette is working today.” </p><p>The young woman pauses, her gaze critical. “Marinette took the breakfast shift,” she says slowly, “but she had to leave early.”</p><p>Adrien waits to see if the waitress has more to add - in fact, it seems as though she’s weighing whether or not to continue - but for whatever reason, she doesn’t share anything else. “Okay. I’m sorry to have bothered you. I just...really need to see her.”</p><p>“You could try the bakery, you know,” she replies. “I mean, I’ve heard you’re there all the time.”</p><p>He smiles sheepishly. “Well, they do have the best croissants in Paris,” he says. “And the kindest people. Not that you all aren’t wonderful, but ah, well...you know what I mean. I hope.” His ramblings, at least, are enough to earn him a smile. “Anyway, thanks for your help, um - sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”</p><p>“Alya Césaire,” she replies archly.</p><p>Recognition sparks. “Oh! You’re the one who has that blog about the neighborhood! I’m a big fan.”</p><p>Alya’s expression seems to lose some of its edge. “Well, perhaps you could grant me an interview as one of our newest residents.”</p><p>“We’ll see what we can work out,” he says with a small smile. “Anyway, I should get going, but thanks again.”</p><p>“You’re welcome.” Alya’s brow furrows for a moment before she continues. “And...I’ll let her know you came by, okay?” </p><p>Adrien blows out a breath, relieved. “That...that would be great. Thank you.”</p><p>“You’re welcome.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The buzz of an incoming text rouses Marinette from her sleep.</p><p>She sits up suddenly, frantically looking around for her phone. Her heart pounds, a hundred thoughts swirling in her mind as she fumbles through her purse. <em>Is it Adrien? How did he get this - oh, wait, of course, he already knows my number, he’s Chat Noir. Oh god, what if he’s mad? What if he never wants to see me again?</em></p><p>Finally, she brings up the message. </p><p> </p><p>(11:52) Girl, you okay? Tikki said you went home sick?? Then ADRIEN AGRESTE just came by to see you. He looked like a kicked puppy. What’s going on??? Call me later. Hope you’re alright. Love youuuuu &lt;3</p><p> </p><p>Marinette’s stomach drops at the message. On the one hand, she’s a little disappointed that the message isn’t from Adrien himself. On the other hand, the fact that he specifically came by <em>Le 21e</em> in search of her gives her a little hope. But on the <em>other</em> other hand, the fact that Alya had described him as a kicked puppy isn’t entirely encouraging...</p><p>(If it was not entirely clear, Marinette has finally moved on from the wallowing portion of her personal emotional rollercoaster and is now headed toward the overthinking stage.)</p><p>Now that she has more or less recovered from the shock of knowing her partner is actually a supermodel, she simply feels like an idiot. Of course she is thrilled to know that it's him, but also feels terrible...not just for how she'd reacted that day, but for how she'd consistently gone to such great lengths to avoid him in their real lives. <em>He must think I hate him. </em></p><p>The weirdest part is, despite her previous determination to think of them as different people, just how easy it is for her to believe that Adrien is Chat Noir. After all, it’s not like <em>Adrien Agreste</em> had ever lied to her about his identity - that would have required them to say more than a few words to one another. And based on everything she’s heard from her parents and neighbors, he and Chat Noir are a lot more similar than she’d ever allowed herself to admit. </p><p>Which would make sense, since they’re the same person.</p><p>She supposes it’s her own mistake for allowing her old teenage infatuation to influence the image of him she’d built up in her mind...though teenage Marinette would probably be tickled to learn that her crush had grown up to become her best friend. She chuckles in spite of herself. <em>Oh my God, I told him about my crush on him,</em> she remembers. </p><p>Another pang of guilt strikes when she thinks about all the things he had confided in her, as well. </p><p>“So why am I being like this?” Marinette asks aloud, flopping back onto her bed.</p><p><em>‘Cause you are a fucking coward, that's why</em>.</p><p>Even so, she still can’t bring herself to pick up the phone and reach out. <em>What would I say, anyway? I'm the awkward baker’s kid, the one who can't even look at you when I don't have a mask on, my life is a total front, I'm too much of a coward...you are perfect and I'm actually in love with you but now that you know who I am there's no way you could love me back but also holy shit, I have questions. Like, how are you so good at hiding how messy your life is when you are literally perfect? And no, I'm not judging you I promise, I’m just really confused. But I miss you. So, so much.</em></p><p>Marinette’s emotional rollercoaster takes another turn. A tiny spark of anger suddenly flares within her, and she sits up with a frown. It is not entirely clear whether that anger is directed at herself, at Adrien, their general circumstances - or some combination of the three. </p><p>Nevertheless, she decides that she refuses to be the kind of girl who mopes at home because of a boy.</p><p>She's going to do something about her life.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Encouraged by his interaction with Alya, Adrien decides to try his luck at the bakery. But he hesitates when he gets to the door, unsure if he should say anything to Tom and Sabine.</p><p>Ladybug - <em>Marinette</em> - hasn't called or texted. He suspects she just needs some time to process, but he can't help but worry that <em>he </em>is the problem.</p><p>He laughs humorlessly at the irony. Of all the things he had been concerned would push her away - his mess of a life, his borderline sketchy jobs - he’d never suspected <em>his actual identity</em> would be the dealbreaker. </p><p>Adrien’s eyes catch on a <em>Help Wanted</em> announcement posted in the window. Despite his state of agitation, a fond smile crosses his face at the memory of hours spent on the phone as he and Ladybug had brainstormed ways to help her parents out. He perks up at another thought: now that their identities have been revealed, he can apply after all. </p><p>(And it’s a good thing, too, because he is now officially a former rather than current model with the <em>Gabriel</em> brand.)</p><p>“Pardon me,” a voice says behind him. </p><p>Adrien winces at the sound, embarrassed; he’d been so distracted by the notice that he'd forgotten he was blocking the entry."Oh, I’m so sorry, please go ahead- wait. Monsieur Fu, is that you?"</p><p>His old Chinese tutor tilts his head upward to face him, smiling in recognition. "Ah, Adrien. How nice it is to see you again. You're much...taller."</p><p>Adrien laughs. "It's nice to see you again, Sir. I hope you have been well? Still teaching?"</p><p>"I am mostly retired now, but I do have a neighbor who comes by to practice with me. That's actually why I'm here...she sometimes brings me macarons from her parents' bakery, and I am feeling a craving."</p><p>Adrien straightens at Fu's mention of a neighbor - a Chinese speaking neighbor, whose parents happen to own the Dupain-Cheng bakery. “Wait. You know Marinette?”</p><p>Fu quirks a brow, curious. “Why yes, do you?” </p><p>The door opens, and they step away from each other to let a customer exit. Adrien, however, doesn’t move to step into the shop. He doesn't want to talk about Marinette in front of Tom and Sabine...for all they know, he and their daughter are still practically strangers. “We’re...friends, yes. We, um- we do...charity work together from time to time.”</p><p>A spark of understanding seems to light up Monsieur Fu's eyes, if only for a moment, before his expression settles into his usual serene smile. “How wonderful. Yes, she’s mentioned this charity work you speak of. You two have been quite active, from what I have heard.”</p><p>Adrien is a bit shocked to find his former teacher referring to their clandestine hero work so brazenly, and yet he's also oddly relieved to find there is someone else who knows his secret.</p><p>“She has? Um, has she said anything else about me...I mean, our work?” </p><p>“A bit.” </p><p>(This is, of course, an understatement. Monsieur Fu most certainly knows who Adrien is and, judging by the expectant look on the young man’s face, suspects that certain events must have come to pass of which he has yet to be apprised.)</p><p>Adrien can’t help but be disappointed, but then Fu speaks again.</p><p>“Do you happen to be free this afternoon, young man? Perhaps after I’ve purchased some macarons, you and I could share them over tea and catch up for a while. You can tell me more about these special charity projects the two of you have been doing. I haven’t exactly gotten all the details. Wasn’t there one recently in Montmartre?”</p><p>Adrien’s eyes widen - Monsieur Fu, he realizes, knows a lot more than he’d initially let on. <em>He might be able to help me.</em> </p><p>On a normal day, he probably would have been too busy to accept such an invitation. But even if he weren't free, it wouldn't matter. He’s not about to let this opportunity pass him by.</p><p>“Yes, absolutely,” Adrien replies, nodding enthusiastically. “That sounds great. And if you don’t mind scooters, I can even give you a ride.”</p><p>Fu opens the bakery door, motioning for Adrien to join him. “That sounds like an excellent idea.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p><em>This was an excellent idea</em>, Marinette thinks. </p><p>Determined not to relapse into a flood of self-pity, Marinette has now spent the better part of two hours in a manic whirlwind of productivity. Her home is spotless, possibly for the first time since she moved in. The surface of her sewing table is actually visible, and the scraps of fabric that would normally lie strewn across the top have been carefully organized and put away. She's even submitted the job applications that have languished in her email drafts for the past few weeks.</p><p>Marinette folds her arms across her chest as she surveys her apartment, a look of satisfaction on her face. <em>There. Who says my life is out of control?</em> </p><p>(No one, actually. But it hasn't stopped her from thinking it.)</p><p>Of course, that feeling of satisfaction is all too fleeting. Without the aid of an activity to distract her, Marinette starts thinking about Adrien again. About all the clues he had left as Chat Noir about who he was under the mask. How could she have been so dumb? Alya would have a field day if she knew her theory had been right all along...</p><p>
  <em>No. Stop.</em>
</p><p>Marinette shakes herself back to the present, determined to avoid the descent into another spiral. What she needs, she decides, is another distraction. She looks around until her eyes land on the kitchen. Baking. Of course - it's something she always used to do with her papa whenever she was feeling down, and it's never failed yet. </p><p>The only question is whether to make bread, or a cake. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“And then she just...kinda ran off into the kitchen, and that was it.”</p><p>Adrien leans back in his too-small chair in the corner of Monsieur Fu’s kitchen with a sigh. He feels like he’s at confession, spilling his guts out to the elderly gentleman across the table from him, as the man sips his tea and nibbles on macarons. It’s a little unsettling, but also rather cathartic. He hadn’t quite realized how much all these secrets had been weighing on him - not just in terms of his activities as Chat Noir, but all of it.</p><p>And if he’s feeling like this, he can only imagine what all these revelations must be doing to Marinette.</p><p>His unlikely confessor continues to sit there, a cryptically calm smile playing at his lips as he processes everything Adrien has told him. “So,” Fu says at last, “what did you do next?”</p><p>Adrien rubs the back of his neck, sheepish. “I was going to wait her out so that we could talk, but then I got called in to meet with my father.”</p><p>“Your father? And is he aware of your...extracurricular activities?” Fu asks, reaching for the open box of macarons. After selecting one, he offers it to Adrien, who shakes his head.</p><p>“My father? God, no," he scoffs. "He would never have approved. But it doesn’t matter now.”</p><p>“And why’s that?”</p><p>Adrien blows out a breath. “Because when I went to meet with him, I decided that it was about time for me to give him my notice.”</p><p>“So…you quit?”</p><p>The corners of his mouth tug up into a satisfied smile. “Yeah. I’d been thinking about it for a while, actually. I was just scared to pull the trigger because I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life.”</p><p>“And you know now?” </p><p>“Sort of? I have some ideas, some avenues I’m interested in exploring.” He straightens in his seat, redirecting his focus to more pressing matters. “Anyway, as much as I’d love to tell you about my plans for the future, right now the only thing I’m worried about is Marinette. I need to know that I haven’t somehow messed things up by not telling her who I was from the beginning.”</p><p>Fu shakes his head. “Young man, whatever the state of Marinette’s frame of mind, none of this is your fault. It’s not the fault of anyone. You both clearly had reasons for keeping your identities a secret from one another, and you both respected that. Marinette may simply be surprised to find that two men who have suddenly come into her life are actually the same person.”</p><p>Adrien stops to consider the hidden meaning behind Fu’s words. Does this mean Marinette has actually talked about him - civilian him - with her neighbor? He suddenly thinks back to what Sabine had said to him all those weeks ago. <em>She’s admired you</em>. Is it possible that Marinette’s mother had meant in more than just professional terms?</p><p><em>Oh my god</em>, he thinks. <em>When she was talking about an old crush moving in around the corner from where she works...she was talking to me...about me. All this time, the avoiding me, the awkward interactions-</em></p><p>
  <em>Oh, fuck. I’ve been such an idiot.</em>
</p><p>“Monsieur Fu,” he asks nervously, “do you think she ran away because she was worried...that I would...reject her?” The last words come out as a harsh whisper.</p><p>“Not necessarily, no,” Fu says carefully. “But if I may speculate, it is possible that Marinette would have been concerned about how you might react to knowing your partner was also someone with whom you were already acquainted, even if only in passing.”</p><p>“But...how could she possibly be worried about what I think of her? She knows more about me than anyone at this point. Do you have any idea how much she's done for me by letting me be Chat Noir? That she's the one who gave me the push to quit modeling altogether?”</p><p>Fu raises a brow. “Is that so?” </p><p>Adrien nods. “I mean, she didn’t outright tell me to quit...and she obviously didn’t know exactly what kind of work I was doing with my dad. But she knew I wasn’t happy.” He smiles wistfully. “I was tired of pretending to be this golden child he's always expected of me. And I didn't want to hide who I was behind a mask anymore. She helped me figure that out.”</p><p>Fu hums as he pours Adrien another cup of tea. “If you don’t mind me saying so, I don't believe you needed Ladybug to become Chat Noir. It's always been in you.”</p><p>“No, I guess you're right. But I do know that she helped me feel <em>comfortable </em>with letting the Chat Noir side of me come out. Mask or no mask, that's the kind of person I want to be. Lady- Marinette helped me see that. And I...I love her for it. I can't lose her because she thinks I'm someone that I'm really not anymore.”</p><p>(While it had not taken Fu terribly long to figure out that Adrien was the young man he suspected Marinette had fallen in love with, it is at this moment that Fu comprehends the depth Adrien’s feelings for her, as well. This tickles him to no end. He does, however, also recognize one very important thing: they’ll never get anywhere without a nudge in the right direction.) </p><p>Monsieur Fu gently wipes a few macaron crumbs off his mustache. “You may recall,” he says, “that earlier, I mentioned Marinette is my neighbor.”</p><p>Adrien nods with interest. “Neighbors...like across the street?” </p><p>“Closer,” Fu replies. “She lives in this building, just two floors up. Apartment 5B.”</p><p>Adrien nearly drops his teacup. “Are you kidding me?”</p><p>“I am not,” he says, smiling serenely. </p><p>(Of course Fu is smiling. He knows what will happen next. And he hopes it happens soon, because he has something else he needs to do. Another nudge, if you will.) </p><p>The young man practically jumps up from the table. “I, um...I should go. If she’s there, I need to...um, sorry for leaving so abruptly, and thanks for the tea. It was really great talking to you, but I, um…”</p><p>“Of course,” he says. “I won’t keep you.”</p><p>Adrien gives one more nod of thanks before making his way. He hopes he isn’t being rude, running off like this, but he can’t waste this opportunity. </p><p>The door slams shut as Adrien exits, leaving Fu alone in his kitchen. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The kitchen is a disaster. This is now Marinette’s third cake attempt, and she’s almost out of flour. </p><p>As it turns out, while baking with her father has always made her feel better, baking alone doesn't quite do the same job.</p><p>The problem seems to be that she can’t get out of her own damn head. She can barely concentrate on gathering her ingredients, what with the invading daydreams that are driving her to distraction. It appears that a domestic activity such as this has triggered no small number of fantasies, mostly revolving around what life would be like with Adrien. An old dream of three kids and a hamster pops into her head, but it’s the simpler ones that threaten to drive her mad: visions of family dinners with her parents in the apartment above the bakery. Of Adrien modelling the prototypes of her latest designs. Of the two of them, side by side in her mess of a kitchen, baking a cake on a foggy day.</p><p>The last image hits just a little too close to home. Marinette sniffles, and the mixing bowl catches her tears.</p><p>She’s just reaching for a tissue when a knock at the door startles her. Flour spills across the counter as she whirls around to face the source of the noise. </p><p><em>“Marinette?” </em>a voice calls from beyond the door, knocking once more.</p><p>Her heart stutters at the sound. Marinette abandons the kitchen and creeps toward the door as quietly as she can, unwilling to betray her presence to her visitor. Could that be…?</p><p><em>“Marinette?”</em> the voice says again. </p><p>A little gasp escapes, and Marinette clamps a hand over her mouth in a panic. <em>It’s him. Adrien. He’s here. What is he doing here?</em> She presses her ear to the door, hoping to hear what is happening on the other side. Perhaps she can hear his thoughts if she listens closely enough.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“Marinette? Marinette, open up. I know you’re in there,” Adrien says. </p><p>(He doesn’t know this, actually, but he hopes his tone is confident enough in case she is.) </p><p>He knocks yet again. As he does so, Adrien leans his head against the front door, hoping to gain a better sense of whether or not she’s home. <em>Is she there? Or is she hiding again?</em></p><p>(The two are mirror images, separated only by a plank of wood and a lock. Adrien listens, hoping that he’s wrong about her being home and not about her feelings for him. Marinette also listens, frozen in fear by the prospect of letting him go, but equally terrified of seeing him disappointed in how poorly she's treated him.)</p><p>The floorboard creaks on Marinette’s side, and Adrien hears her trying to hold in a breath. <em>So, she is home. All right, then. I’m going to have to try something else.</em> </p><p>Heaving a sigh, he steps away and begins his descent from the 5th floor...but not before writing a note and slipping it under her door.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Marinette hears the sound of scratching against her door, followed by footsteps. She waits until she no longer hears any trace of noise in the stairwell, counting out an additional ten seconds before she gathers the courage to open the door. When she does, she is not surprised to find him gone. However, when she looks down, she realizes that he’s left something behind. </p><p>She leans down to examine the scrap of paper on the floor. <em>I’m coming back</em>, it reads.</p><p>Clutching the note in her hands, Marinette closes the front door, locking it securely before making her way toward her bedroom. She approaches the window, peeking past the curtain to look at the street below. She watches as Adrien comes into view, his hands stuffed in his pockets as he crosses the street and settles down on the sidewalk opposite her building. When he looks up, she instinctively snaps the curtain closed. </p><p>He’s determined enough, she’ll grant him that. The question is, is she?</p><p>Marinette jumps at the sound of her phone buzzing. She grabs at it, expecting to see a text from Adrien. Already she is dreading what he will say. Did he come here to confront her? To pour out his love for her? </p><p>As it happens, the message says neither of those things. In fact, the message isn’t from Adrien at all.</p><p>It’s from Monsieur Fu.</p><p>Marinette taps on her phone to find a video message. Curious, she presses <em>play</em>. </p><p>Fu’s face fills the screen, his greyed features in sharp relief as he speaks.</p><p>
  <em>“Have a seat, Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng.” </em>
</p><p>He pauses, as if giving her time to follow his instructions. Marinette sinks onto a nearby chair, eyes glued to her phone.</p><p><em>“My little Marinette,” </em>Fu continues, <em>“I’ve survived for much longer than I ought to have, in no small part because I have stayed on the outside, jumping from path to path so no one can touch me. But I’ve only just survived. You can do more...you can live. You are stronger than I am; you can take what life sends your way and turn it into something beautiful. You’ve shown it in your ability to bring happiness to the lives of those around you. But love, happiness... these are not just gifts you have to bestow upon others. They are things that you deserve as well. Don’t let this chance get away. If you do, fifty years from now you may find yourself like me -  where you can fit everything that’s left of your love into a little black box. So please, be brave, Marinette. You know who you are, and who he is. You know what you must do. It’s time to take that next step.”</em></p><p>The video clip ends, frozen on an image of her aged neighbor smiling placidly at her as if he already knows what she is going to do next. A cascade of conversations play out in her head as Marinette recalls her visits - all those harmless chats about art and Mandarin over green tea and macarons. It appears that he’d paid much more attention to her rambling tangents than he’d let on.</p><p>Part of her wants to be angry; she’d given him her number for emergencies, not unsolicited advice about her love life. But when she registers the feel of fresh tears on her cheeks, Marinette realizes that she’s not upset because he’s once again poked his nose into her business. </p><p>She’s upset because she knows he’s right. </p><p>Marinette suddenly stands and crosses back to the window. She yanks at the curtain determinedly, seeking the strength to call down to Adrien and invite him in to talk.</p><p>But Adrien isn’t there.</p><p>
  <em>Oh no.</em>
</p><p>Marinette smears the tears from her eyes, taking off into a run as she dives out of the bedroom and toward the front door. She doesn’t give herself the option of considering what could happen if she’s missed her chance. <em>You can’t think like that</em>, Marinette scolds herself silently. <em>You can’t.</em> </p><p>She wrenches the door open, readying herself to dash down the stairs-</p><p>- and there he is.</p><p>Marinette sucks in a breath, shocked. Adrien <em>had</em> said he’d be back, but she hadn’t realized it would be quite so soon. (To be honest, she hadn’t quite believed him, either.) But there he stands, taking in the sight of her with his green eyes wide. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>For a few seconds, all he can do is stare.</p><p>In moments such as these, perhaps the polite thing to do would be for him to say hello. For her to invite the gentleman in, perhaps even to apologize for not letting him in earlier. But politeness is the last thing on either of their minds. There are far too many emotions dominating this little scene.</p><p>Surprise.</p><p>Wonder. </p><p>Fear. </p><p>Love.</p><p>Adrien puts himself at his lady's mercy, showing no resistance when Marinette suddenly grabs him by the lapel and pulls him into her flat, clumsily reaching to slam the door closed as soon as they’ve cleared the entryway. She stumbles backward, refusing to let her eyes leave his. He instinctively reaches for her arm to steady her footing. Even now, he’s ready to catch her when she falls.</p><p>Silence reigns as they drink each other in. Not a word is spoken, but they understand one another completely. They know each other too well for anything else to be the case.</p><p>Slowly, Marinette rises up on her toes, planting a light kiss on the corner of Adrien’s mouth. Her lips linger for a moment before she pulls away, her eyes meeting his. Adrien sucks in a breath, frozen, as he watches her crane her head to the side and lean in once more. When he feels her lips brush against his neck, just below his jaw, he can’t help the sigh - almost a purr - that escapes him. <em>This woman is going to be the death of me</em>, he thinks. Drunk on her touch, he readily acquiesces when she silently prompts him to tilt his head downward. And when she kisses his brow, he marvels at the tenderness he feels coming from this woman who, for all intents and purposes, has been no more than a stranger in his civilian life.</p><p><em>But she’s not</em>, he reminds himself. <em>Mask or no mask, you know who she is. She’s the one you love.</em></p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Marinette can feel Adrien tremble as she steps away, her gaze plaintive. She brings a finger to the corner of her mouth in silent invitation, leaving a faint mark of flour when she lowers her hand. <em>Your turn</em>, she tells him wordlessly. For a moment she worries that her boldness has been too much, that she’s read him all wrong...then. Adrien leans in, and Marinette’s eyes flutter shut to take in every sensation as he mirrors her own actions. The feel of the feather-light brush of his lips on the corner of her mouth. The warmth of his breath as he lingers, just for a moment, at the crook of her jaw. The tender softness of his expression as he presses a kiss to her brow. </p><p>Each touch feels like a balm to her lonely soul. Though no words are exchanged, Marinette understands his meaning beyond the shadow of a doubt.</p><p>
  <em>He’s here. He’s real. He loves me.</em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Adrien pulls away, but his eyes don’t leave hers. He brings up his hand to cradle her face, and she leans into his touch when his thumb brushes away the tears that linger on her cheek. </p><p>It's then that he begins to feel the weight of the moment. A multitude of confessions hang in the air, just waiting to be said.</p><p>
  <em>I can’t believe this is real. I’ve been such a fool. I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner. I’m so, so happy that it’s you.</em>
</p><p>“Marinette, I -” he starts, but she places a finger on his lips, stopping the flood of words before they can rush out.</p><p>“I know,” she says, her eyes shining happily, even as new tears threaten to fall. “Me, too.”</p><p>Marinette threads her fingers through his and pulls him in closer. He leans his forehead against hers, breathing her in. She nuzzles his nose with hers, smiling against his mouth.</p><p>"I love you, Adrien Agreste."</p><p>A choked laugh escapes him. His heart swells, as if her words have opened up a part of his soul that had been hidden from him until this moment. For the first time in his life, he truly feels whole. </p><p>There are so many things he wants to tell her, but really, there’s only one thing he can say in response. </p><p>“I love you, Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”</p><p>Then, at last, he captures her lips with his.</p><p>(You can use your imagination as to what happens next, but suffice to say that there’s no more talking for quite a while after.)</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The time is 23:43. Marinette stares at the sleeping form next to her, unsure how she possibly could have thought she was happy before now. </p><p>Careful not to wake him, Marinette reaches out to brush the hair out of Adrien's face so that she can study him better. God, he's beautiful. And so...happy. Happy in a way she's never seen before.  Even in sleep, he wears a smile of utter contentment. </p><p>Her fingers linger at his temple, and she feels a rush of emotion at the thought that she might be the reason for his smile. </p><p>Adrien's green eyes flicker open, and his tiny smile widens into a lazy grin. Marinette pulls back her hand, but he catches it and presses a kiss to her fingertips. </p><p>"Have you been staring at me?" he whispers teasingly. </p><p>“I'm just trying to get used to seeing you this close without your mask.” </p><p>“It's not like you haven't seen me before. It's no different.” </p><p>But it is different. Everything has changed, in the best way possible. </p><p>Suddenly, Marinette gets an idea. “Let’s get dressed,” she says, gathering some pillows and a spare blanket. “I want to show you something outside.”</p><p>A few minutes later, they’re on a rooftop balcony not unlike the one she had in the apartment above the bakery. No one goes up there - particularly at this hour- so it's just the two of them, huddled under a blanket as they gaze at the city lights.</p><p>“You sure you don’t have somewhere to be tonight?” Marinette asks.</p><p>He tugs the blanket upwards until it's nearly at her chin, marveling at how adorable she looks. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be right now than with you.”</p><p>“You sure? No late night shifts at the shop?”</p><p>“I’ve taken a leave of absence,” he takes a little breath before adding, “I need some time to figure out my future now that I’ve quit modeling.”</p><p>Marinette swivels around in his arms to face him. “You did what? Seriously?”</p><p>He smiles sheepishly at her. “Mmhmm. You remember that family business I was talking about, right? The one I hated? Well...that was it.”</p><p>“Oh. Wow.”</p><p>Adrien’s eyes shift downward, his voice dripping with uncertainty. “You’re not...disappointed, right?”</p><p>She cups his cheek with one hand, willing her to look at him. “What? No, of course not. I mean, I guess I didn’t put two and two together until now,” she admits. “But I’m really proud of you, Adrien.”</p><p>He gathers her into his arms, giving her a grateful squeeze. “Thanks, Milady. It means a lot to hear you say that.”</p><p>Marinette turns back around, settling in against his chest - partly because it’s comfortable, but also so that she can better hide the way she blushes at her old nickname. “So have you thought about what you’re going to do next?”</p><p>“I have some ideas,” he says cryptically. “We can talk about it later. In the meantime, I have more important things to think of. Questions that need answering.” </p><p>"Oh?" Now it seems it is Marinette’s turn to be nervous, but she relaxes when he brushes hair off the nape of her neck to kiss the exposed skin. A tiny, happy sigh escapes her. "Ask away, then."</p><p>He chuckles, and Marinette can feel the rumble of his laugh against her back. “I guess, what I'm most curious about is...when did it happen?” </p><p>“When did what happen?”</p><p>“When did you fall in love with me? I mean, I think it happened for me pretty quickly, but what about you? Was it when you sent me on that treasure hunt on Montmartre? Or earlier, when I caught you after you fell from that photo booth?” His tone is teasing, but with an unmistakable hint of vulnerability.</p><p>Marinette pauses to consider the question. <em>Is it really possible to know?</em> </p><p>She taps her chin, thoughtful. “Actually, I think it may have been when you groped me on the haunted train.”</p><p>Adrien is scandalized. “I do <em>not</em> grope. I am a professio-” he stops short as the full implication of her words registers. “Holy shit, so it <em>was</em> you!”</p><p>Marinette giggles. “Ooooooooooh,” she sings in perfect imitation.</p><p>Adrien tickles her. “I’m going to get you for that.”</p><p>Eventually, their laughter abates and the two find themselves pressed against one another, the blanket cast aside, staring at each other as if for the first time. </p><p>“Honestly though, for me...it was the umbrella,” Marinette confesses. “I'm not saying that's the moment it happened, exactly. It’s just...I think that's when I realized I might have always been at least a little in love with you, even from the beginning.”</p><p>Adrien’s eyes shine, disbelief still etched on his face. “You really loved me...even before you knew I was Adrien Agreste?”</p><p>She smiles softly, tilting her head upwards to brush his lips with a gentle kiss. “How could I not?” she asks. “ The names you used never changed who you were. Adrien. <em>Nino</em>. Chat Noir. It took me a little time to figure that part out, but I always - I always loved you, both before and after I knew. You had my heart before I even realized it.”</p><p>Marinette snuggles against Adrien's chest, his arms wrapped tightly around her as the pair take in the sight of the Sacré-Coeur lit up on its majestic hill. The city lights below twinkle in tandem with their heartbeats. Two souls intertwined, the journey to one another finally realized. </p><p>Everything is as it should be.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Epilogue to follow very soon. In the meantime, (kind and gentle) feedback is always appreciated! Thank you so much for reading.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Epilogue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>At last, we have reached the end. This has been quite a ride (my first story for the ML fandom and it's over 50k? Insanity!) and I am very grateful to you for reading, commenting, reblogging, etc. I hope you have enjoyed this story as much as I've enjoyed writing it.</p><p>Much love and gratitude to my beautifully talented betas/pre-readers: dealan, merciki, rosegardeninwinter, and serendipitousReckonings. Your support and cheerleading have meant the world, and I love you &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It is the 17th of August. Despite the steady stream of tourists, the summer <em>vacances </em>lend a lazy air to the morning.</p><p>No truer is this than at <em>Café Le 21e</em>, where even the breakfast rush has a decidedly relaxed feel. Relaxed...and, for whatever reason, romantic. Behind the bar, Ivan cradles a comically tiny coffee cup in one giant hand, carefully fashioning a heart with steamed milk before passing it across the counter to a beaming Mylène. Alya bestows a kiss on Nino’s brow as she passes his table, tray in hand. She delivers a plate of croissants to Marc’s table, but they are too absorbed in conversation with Nathaniel to notice.</p><p>Tikki leans on her cane as she watches life go by in her little corner of the world. But then, something out the window catches her eye. It’s an oddly familiar scene: an Asian man, his gait slightly more hunched than when last she saw, accompanied by a frail woman, her greyed hair pulled up to reveal a face radiant with happiness. Their heads bow together as they pass, chatting as they share a box of macarons from the bakery next door. </p><p>An amused smile spreads across her face. All these years later, she still remembers. And she knows - her recipe for love still stands the test of time.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>On the other side of the Seine, a taxi idles outside the home of Rolland Dupain. The elderly gentleman steps out the front door, a poorly fitting fedora atop his head as he struggles to wrench his suitcase onto the front porch. </p><p>A voice calls out. “Let me handle that for you, Papa.” Tom lifts the bag as though it weighs no more than a feather. </p><p>Rolland grumbles rather than thanks his son for his trouble. “If you’re going to treat me like an invalid the whole time we’re in China,” he warns, “this is going to be a very long month.”</p><p>Sabine appears, laughing as she escorts him to the waiting vehicle. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure he behaves.” She turns to the taxi driver. “Charles de Gaulle airport, if you please.” </p><p>The trio squeeze into the car and speed away, the promise of adventure awaiting them.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Over in Pigalle, Plagg is deep in thought, his hands jammed into his pockets as he ambles toward his shop. (Contrary to popular belief, he doesn’t live at <em>La Petite Mort</em> - he just really enjoys naps.) Schedules and inventories fight for attention in his brain, but he is largely preoccupied with one big question: what is he going to do now that he’s lost his best employee? </p><p>As if on cue, Plagg looks up, only to spot a perfume ad on the street. There, smiling back at him, is the very cause of his current predicament. Despite his annoyance at the situation - what had he been thinking, encouraging Adrien to quit? - Plagg shakes his head with a bemused chuckle. How that kid ever thought he was capable of going incognito is beyond him, but he’s amused that he tried. </p><p><em>LPM </em>comes into view, but he notices something curious about the storefront. The shop has a metal chain link wall to protect from vandals and thieves, but that’s not what gets Plagg’s attention...it’s the wooden box that’s sitting next to the lock, calling out to him. He breaks into a light jog, not trusting that someone won't try to swoop in and grab the package before he even gets to see what it is or who it’s for.  </p><p>Luckily, no would-be thieves get in his way, and the box remains undisturbed as he makes his approach. He leans down to inspect it, and his eyes light up as he sees the words emblazoned on the lid in flowing calligraphy: <em>Camembert &amp; Confitures</em>. </p><p>Plagg doesn’t stop to unlock the shop - he has more important things to do - but instead uses his key to pry the lid open. And there, nestled in mounds of shredded paper, are five of the most beautiful rounds of cheese he’s ever seen in his life. </p><p>There’s also a note. </p><p><em>Sorry for leaving you in a lurch. Hope this numbs the pain</em>. <em>Nino ;)</em></p><p>Plagg stands up to look around the near deserted street. He suspects the delivery must have been recent, but there’s no one to be found. Shrugging, Plagg just laughs. He stoops back down to unlock the gate and lifts up the grate with one hand. It’s a bit of a struggle, as his other hand holds the cheese box protectively against his chest like it’s a kitten. </p><p>(A kitten he will eat. Perhaps that is a bad analogy, but he's sticking with it.)</p><p>Absent employees or not, this is going to be a good day.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Back in the 4th arrondissement, Marinette is doodling in a sketchbook, the tip of her tongue slipping past the corner of her mouth as she shades in a detail on her latest design. It feels good to be drawing again, and although she knows she’s got a little while longer before she starts at the boutique, this time she knows it’s temporary. Besides, this transition period is a great opportunity for the new apprentice to get a feel for things independent of her parents. Still, it’s probably a good idea to get another assistant. She makes a note to float the idea to her parents when they get back from their trip.</p><p>The bell tinkles at Tom and Sabine’s to signal the entry of another customer. It’s slow in the shop, but she’s not complaining. In fact, it’s a nice change from the insanity of earlier, when she’d had to contend with both the morning rush and the departure of her parents.</p><p>“So what’s next out of the oven...baguettes, or a new batch of croissants?”</p><p>Marinette looks up, her welcoming smile stretching into an all-out grin as she realizes that it’s not a customer at all, but her parents’ new apprentice.</p><p>“Croissants,” she replies. “They’ll be out in ten minutes.”</p><p>“Perfect.” Adrien slips behind the counter, stealing a kiss as he reaches for an apron on the hook behind her. “That gives me time to work on my macaron piping technique.”</p><p>Marinette rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “You’ve already got it perfect. Papa said he’s never seen someone take to baking so quickly,” she says, pride evident in her voice.  She laughs lightly at the way Adrien’s cheeks redden at her father’s praise. “Anyway, did your special delivery go well?”</p><p>Adrien nods. “Perfectly. I stuck around just long enough to see him open it, even.”</p><p>“And?”</p><p>“I think it’s safe to say Plagg’s forgiven me for leaving,” he says, his eyes sparkling. “But it was a little weird.”</p><p>Marinette quirks a brow in question. “Weird? Why’s that?”</p><p>Though his face is uncovered, his smirk is unmistakably Chat Noir. “Because that’s the first time I’ve gone on a mission without my lady…”</p><p>She swats at his chest. “Well, technically it’s not a mission since he definitely knows it was you,” she points out.</p><p>He tips his head in concession. “True.”</p><p>“But I had an idea for something else, if you aren’t too busy piping macarons after work?” Her expression is happy, hopeful.</p><p>Adrien grins. “I can’t think of anything better, Milady.”</p><p>Marinette flips to another page in her sketchbook, one already laden with doodles and words. She turns to Adrien - her partner, her friend, her love - and smiles in return. "Then, <em>mon chaton</em>, let me walk you through the plan."</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em>The sun hangs low in the sky as a girl in red and a boy in black zoom along the streets of Paris on an orange scooter. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>The girl presses herself against the boy’s back as she clings to his middle. Despite the swirl of questions around her future, she hums with contentment. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>The boy sighs at the contact but focuses on the road ahead. Her very presence makes him feel as though a fog has been lifted; for the first time in his adult life, he can breathe deeply, see clearly. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>For once, for both, there is no fear, no trepidation. Only a quiet joy rooted in the confidence that they’ve each found their person, the one with whom they can face down the challenges of the future. Just the two of them, against the world. As it was meant to be. Always.</em>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>If you feel like it, stop by my tumblr and say hello. And go watch this movie if you haven't already!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I had originally thought to post this for AU August, but got so excited by the beautiful artwork created by <a href="https://celerydays.tumblr.com/post/625215717990645760/mlb-for-blm-commission-marinette-am%C3%A9lie-au">celerydays</a> and <a href="https://breamart.tumblr.com/post/624996821341700096/commission-mlbforblm-for-deinde-prandium">bream</a> for the MLBforBLM drive that I decided to start posting chapters a little early. Please go check out their work if you haven't seen it already!</p>
<p>Right now we're looking at about 10-11 chapters, but we'll see. In any event, please be gentle...this is my first real foray into ML fanfic.</p>
<p>I'm deinde-prandium on tumblr. Feel free to stop by and say hello.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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